Ballerinas, Edgar Degas, part III.
— Anne Carson (1998). Eros the Bittersweet. Champaign: Dalkey Archive Press; p. 30. (via acadaimon)
Dancing School. Harlem, New York City. 1938.
Photographer: Sol Prom
(courtesy The Jewish Museum)
"Initially Sidney Lumet was delighted to have Pauline covering the picture, as he had been following her work for some times and found her one of the most perceptive and articulate critics to come along in years. "The only thing she was really lacking," said Lumet, "which I feel is true of many critics, is any technical knowledge of how a movie is made.” He gave her complete access to the filming, which was being done entirely in New York. On the set, Pauline kept herself in the background, never interrupted a shot, never asked questions at tense or inappropriate times. To the actresses she was rather intimidating, despite her low profile—“rather brusque and strict” was how Shirley Knight, playing Polly, the group member who wants only a simple and fruitful marriage, remembered her.
Lumet and Pauline had a very friendly relationship during the weeks she observed on the set. Not long after The Group had wrapped, Lumet invited her to his apartment for dinner. Also present was Lumet’s close friend the show-business caricaturist Al Hirschfeld, with his wife, Dolly. “We had a good dinner and a lot to drink,” recalled Lumet. “Oh boy—did Pauline like to drink. Al had the greatest equanimity of any person I’ve ever seen. But I could see he was rankled by Pauline, and they got into an idiotic discussion about the function of a critic.” The argument went back and forth, until Hirschfeld finally raised his voiced slightly and demanded of Pauline, “What do you think the function of a critic should be?”
"My job," snapped Pauline, "is to show him"—pointing at Lumet—"which way to go."
Lumet never saw her again. “I thought, this is a very dangerous person. When she had arrived in New York, she had just come from San Francisco, and I thought, poor kid—she’s probably lonely as hell. Little did I know what I was dealing with.”“
From Brian Kellow’s Pauline Kael
Janet Malcolm, Three Collage pieces from the “Emily Dickinson Series”, (2013)
The collages that make up Janet Malcolm’s melancholic Emily Dickinson Series, look on first view like leaves from some late Victorian archive, though the field of science or art to which they belong remains unclear. Certain motifs recur: vintage photographs of the 1874 transit of Venus, a rare astronomical event when the planet Venus passes directly between the sun and the earth, resembling a beauty spot traversing the face of the sun; a photograph of a bearded astronomer identified as David Todd (“the depressed astronomer,” as Malcolm came to think of him), who photographed the transit of 1882; gnomic passages by Emily Dickinson in typewritten transcriptions; and, finally, sheets of brownish transparent paper, of the kind once used to protect art books, variously folded and draped like veils across portions of the works.
Malcolm’s collages are parsimonious with color—They also eschew the Surrealist temptation—exploited by Max Ernst and Hannah Höch, and later by the West Coast collagist Jess—to elide disparate images in ways that create the illusion that they are linked in dreamlike ways. They also eschew the Surrealist temptation—exploited by Max Ernst and Hannah Höch, and later by the West Coast collagist Jess—to elide disparate images in ways that create the illusion that they are linked in dreamlike ways. Malcolm prefers an art of juxtaposition, documents and photographs placed side by side as though for inspection.
enjoy these two frames of Lenny getting punched in the back of the head for your own use
— Lies My Teacher Told Me, James Loewen (via whoistorule)