Posts Tagged ‘amateurs’
July 27, 2016 | by Dylan Hicks
Every month, the Daily features a puzzle by Dylan Hicks. The first list of correct answers wins a year’s subscription to The Paris Review. (In the event that no one can get every answer, the list with the most correct responses will win.) Send an e-mail with your answers to email@example.com. The deadline is Monday, August 1, when we’ll post the answers. Good luck!
The answers to this month’s puzzle are surnames composed, either plainly or fancifully, of two words. Lots of people, of course, such as the installation artist Jessica Stockholder and the bandleader Benny Goodman, have phrasal surnames, but we’ve generally avoided names that are themselves compound words or common pairings. Several of the answers, then, form sensible if unusual phrases; others are of the word-salad type. The answers are simply the surnames, though each is attached to a notable figure, including two fictional characters. The clues consist of a parenthetical, usually just naming the field in which the person became most famous, followed by a two-word phrase roughly synonymous with the phrasal surname. (One clue uses an established hyphenated compound word, but that seems in keeping with the two-word rule.) So, if we had used one of the above rejects, the clue might go as follows:
(Clarinetist) Decent fellow
The answer would be “Goodman.” If you want to throw in a first name, feel free, but you won’t get extra points. Read More »
July 1, 2016 | by Dylan Hicks
Ed. Note: This week’s puzzle contest is officially over—thanks to all who entered. Our winner this time is Russell Jane Willoughby, who got out thirty-seven of forty really difficult hink pinks. She gets a free subscription to the Review and a copy of Dylan’s new novel, Amateurs. Congratulations, Russell! Below, the solutions.
June 28, 2016 | by Dylan Hicks
***UPDATE—The contest has ended! Thanks to all who entered. Click here for the answers—and the winners.***
Ed. Note: every month, the Daily features a puzzle by Dylan Hicks. The first list of correct answers wins a year’s subscription to The Paris Review and a copy of Dylan’s new novel, Amateurs. (In the event that no one can get every answer, the list with the most correct responses will win.) Send an e-mail with your answers to firstname.lastname@example.org. The deadline is Friday, July 1, at noon EST, when we’ll post the answers. Good luck!
Read More »
April 10, 2012 | by Yevgeniya Traps
Terry Winters works on the fifth floor of a Tribeca walk-up. It is a steep climb, but the space is serene and open, decorated with a few large Nigerian ceramics, a framed Weegee photograph, and of course Winters’s own drawings and watercolors (he does his oil painting in a studio in the country). It is also remarkably free of clutter for an artist who describes himself as an “image junky.” Winters spends a lot of time here—“I try to show up for the job,” he remarks when I ask him about his daily practice—though he does not have much by way of routine, allowing the needs of the project to shape his day.
This year marks the thirtieth anniversary of Winters’s first solo show at the Sonnabend Gallery. Now represented by Matthew Marks, Winters’s work continues to be informed by the ideas that animated his very first exhibition. One constant—besides his New York studio, where he has worked from the very start of his career—has been his use of found images, which he faithfully collects and assembles into collages that serve as miniature laboratories for future paintings. But the collages, with their layers and juxtapositions, their invocation of modern technology (several feature visible URLs, linking to universities and laboratories) and natural forms, are also lovely in their own right. Read More »
June 1, 2010 | by Lorin Stein
To the Reader:
Welcome to the The Paris Review Daily, a culture gazette brought to you by the editors of The Paris Review.
Since its founding in 1953, The Paris Review has devoted itself to publishing “the good writers and good poets,” regardless of creed or school or name-recognition. In that time the Review has earned a reputation as the chief discoverer of what is newest and best in contemporary writing.
But a quarterly only comes out…well, you know. We have been looking for a way to keep in touch with our readers between issues, and to call attention to our favorite writers and artists in something close to real time. If the Review embodies a sensibility, this Daily will try, in a casual and haphazard and at times possibly frivolous way, to put that sensibility into words.
Taking inspiration from the Review’s founding editor, George Plimpton, our mode will be participatory journalism, our beat the arts. We will write about what we love, not as critics, but as participants—as amateurs in the Plimptonian sense of the word. That anyway is our aim. Furthermore we hope that you will enjoy the Daily and—most of all—that you'll write in and tell us what you think.
If you are like us, you hear a lot of gloomy talk about the future of reading, but you don't quite recognize yourself in these discussions: books are the reading you care most deeply about, and you doubt that’s going to change. You love your favorite blogs, but you also know when to turn off your devices. You read your favorite magazines faithfully—and if sometimes you skip the fiction, it’s not because you think new writing is in some sort of inevitable decline. It’s probably because you are what Roberto Bolaño called a “desperate” reader, on the lookout for a story that will speak more directly to your condition.
“Perhaps the critics are right,” wrote William Styron half a century ago, in the Review’s first issue: “this generation may not produce literature equal to that of any past generation—who cares? The writer will be dead before anyone can judge him—but he must go on writing.”
In the same spirit, we say there is plenty to interest us in the writing of our moment, and not only in the writing. Everywhere we look, whether it’s the new painting, film, or YouTube clip, we find beauty sufficient unto the present day, the only one we’ve got.
Ever faithfully yours,