An Ice-Age nude, a legendary boat race and a gourmet Easter Egg meal are among Muse’s arts and leisure recommendations this weekend.
Blood-red paint gushes, splashes and drips in the new Barnaby Furnas paintings at Marianne Boesky gallery in Manhattan’s Chelsea district.
Now is a good time to be thinking about the human body. It’s on display, in peak form, at all the London Olympic venues, and in rather less standard configurations at a trio of sculptural exhibitions.
Bureaucrats will today decide whether to go ahead with the sale of a Henry Moore sculpture -- a decision which has put them at odds with London’s art world.
The more history unfolds, the less the description “Homo sapiens” -- man the wise -- seems to fit. Perhaps we should speak instead of Homo pictor, man the painter, or of human beings as the sculpting species.
London is entering the final lap of Olympic hysteria. For those left without tickets, BT London Live has screens in Hyde Park, Victoria Park and Trafalgar Square.
I never thought I’d find myself writing these words: The Turner Prize exhibition of 2012 at Tate Britain is actually entertaining.
If he happened to meet Picasso walking down the road, Winston Churchill once disclosed, he planned to give him a kick in the rear.
Art dealer Marc Jancou, his jeans soaked to the knees, stood outside his gallery on West 24th Street in Chelsea supervising a clean-up brigade wielding mops and buckets.
Edouard Manet once took umbrage at a sarcastic remark someone made about one of his paintings. He ran the offender through the shoulder with a sword.
"Draped Seated Woman."
- Henry Moore on Nov 06, 2012