A magical silence would descend over the room as my mother and father stretched out, perfectly still, not saying a word but expressing what seemed a shared anguish; later, in the seventies, when like everyone else in the country we bought a television set and they somewhat sheepishly surrendered to its entertainments, there were no magical silences, and I never again had the desire to paint them. Because for me happiness occurred when the people who loved me were suppressing their demons and I was free to play.
Orhan Pamuk, Istanbul
Anna Pavlova
Go see the Robert Frank exhibition at the Robert Mann Gallery
September 9, 2009-January 9, 2010
Douglas Sirk—Written on the Wind
The Dance of Death
← Earlier Posts
Page 1 of 21
