While he was surrounded by people wielding pens or proffering
microphones, he was asked about the turnaround plan that Ford will be putting in place.
Whatever answer one comes to, the volume under review while proffering
no answers certainly provides fodder for one or another position and offers an avenue into the current debates about the meanings and ways of understanding architectural images.
At the core of his works are sunny images of white folk that look as if they've been lifted from postwar family magazines like Look and the Saturday Evening Post, publications that staged what came to define the ideal American family: moms proffering
cakes, dads in business suits, smiling boys and girls, and animals that accessorize the "white" existence-labradors, robins, Canadian geese, and cows from the dairyland of Mull's native Ohio.
But my idiosyncrasy of proffering
Gaudi actually raises another surprise.
In place of sealed hardwood, a grouted mosaic of tiny tiles glistened underfoot like a model-home bathroom; add a kidney-curved built-in planter and the scene seemed to promise a house-proud hostess proffering
an artfully arranged platter of dip 'n' dunks.
As this fact lies nowhere but in the matter he laid down, the insights of the MOMA conservators into the astonishing variety and inner life of the paintings tend to undercut the argument for Pollock as consummate draftsman, a latter-day old master proffering
, in Karmel's words, "precisely the illusionistic space of Renaissance art." The discovery of such an eternal verity in these works depends on their receding to some state of virtual apparition, and here the high professional competence of the installation may, paradoxically, dovetail with the inadequate platform of ideas on which the organizers' insistent claims for Pollock's greatness are made to rest.
There, arrayed before a blazing colonial-style hearth, is a lineup of ghoulish family types - among them, a mewling little girl spread-eagled in a kilt on a Chippendale chair; a young drag queen proffering
a tiny spectral ballerina in his palm; the wizened, balding person of the artist propping up a rigid elder in a plaid bathrobe (this appears to be Greenwold's father, either dying or newly risen from the dead, for above him flies a human skull with wings); and a butch-coiffed mother type, grinning as she strangles herself.