Twombly ride delle buffonerie di Pan [ Twombly laughs at the Panís jokes Ė pastels, lip gloss, tinted moisturiser, eyeliner and eyeshadow on plank, 39,8 centimetres in width, 40,2 in height, 2 in thickness ] extols both the
humorous and saucy nature of the god and the painter who sees as a tail can be taller than two hands.
Twombly hasnít padded sharp corners for the naked guest, for the coming men neither. A man full of signs is asked to give slight laughs to his staidness every once in a while. Karl Evver depicts him by no means shocked by the sprawling god: the human bisected ethics Ė do this and it is fine, donít do because itís coarse Ė melts pleasantly, thaws its logical permafrost, batters its brittle shell when facing a hirsute caller requiring a whole acceptance of existing, because itís uncertain what it can counter to him or how to carve a section of order in such harshness.
Evver values the present times so little that he thinks handling in painting faded cosmetics donít matter. Not only do signs have more yearning nearness to truth if rubbed when enfeebled, but they also have less correspondence with the bitchesí overloaded eyelids. Among other things, the pompous, falling eye-sockets of Southern women show off in Twomblyís The Bay of Neaples in spite of his patent lack of interest in human lineaments. Because females overstate their gazes with spatula, brush and deep poultice, but art does eliminate a lot of crap on our consoles, in our lifes, out of regular rotation of deed in the nude.
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