Genzken was to have been the subject of a recent Thurman profile for The New Yorker, but ill health prevented that.
Once married to the more celebrated German artist Gerhard Richter, Genzken is, in Thurman’s estimation, starting to get the kind of acclaim on these shores that she has enjoyed in Europe for decades:
Genzken’s art and life are narratives of defiance. She is too restless to be faithful to a medium or a genre. She has always courted danger, with predictable results—the life force and the death wish are at odds in her. The desire to please is not part of her character. She suffers from alcoholism and from bipolar disease. And perhaps because self-promotion is an aspect of self-preservation, she has resisted that, too. But sexism, it seems, has also contributed to Genzken’s relative obscurity, at least until lately. She is a major female artist who doesn’t do women’s work.
Don’t let the later-in-life photo fool you. Kathleen Sharp remembers Margaret Millar, who like many male authors of her noir fiction genre lived what she wrote, and vice versa:
Yet, oddly, the Sturm und Drang of her housebound life was the best thing that could have happened to Maggie. Her work explores the shoals of domestic drama, where anxiety pools around an errant husband and a wife’s slippery grip on a pan of hot grease. In one of her stories, Fire Will Freeze (1944), a group of strangers are stranded on a bus, quarrelling, until they finally hike to a lodge owned by a crazy lady. In Experiment in Springtime (1947), a staid marriage is shaken when the husband comes to believe that his dear wife is trying to kill him. As she wrote in The Fiend (1964): “There is no me anymore […]. I’ve lost my personhood.” The dirty-sink depression was forcing Maggie to slash her way into the uncharted heart and mind of the postwar American woman.
The year after JFK’s death, the acclaimed documentary "Four Days in November” traced the time of the assassination through Kennedy’s burial at Arlington Cemetery.
In between is terrific footage of everything that transpired in Dallas and in Washington, including Lee Harvey Oswald’s assassination by Jack Ruby to “John-John” saluting his father as the casket came by.
Richard Basehart’s narration is quite hagiographic, but the Camelot legend was in its early phase, and the nation was still mourning.
And Cronkite’s famous official announcement of JFK’s death, as he fought back emotion and managed to keep his composure. NBC’s Frank McGee was visibly shaken throughout his network’s long newscast into the evening.
I have no recollection of this day at all, just having had my third birthday. My mother says a neighbor came to deliver the news.
Here’s what was on local Dallas TV — and this was the case most everywhere — when the news of JFK’s shooting was announced.
Dallas TV reporter Jay Watson interrupted regular programming, out of breath. Later, he was the first journalist to interview Abraham Zapruder, who was filming the motorcade’s passing on the Grassy Knoll, and captured the shooting of the president with his video camera.
Live NBC coverage of the breaking news of John F. Kennedy’s assassination 50 years ago today, with Frank McGee, Chet Huntley and others. On the phone was a very young reporter on the scene in Texas, Robert MacNeil, later of PBS.
We take for granted the easy technology we have now, but note the lack of immediate film footage from Dallas and how the studio hosts had to improvise telephone conveyance with MacNeil with some terrible feedback.
McGee kept dictating to the audience, despite MacNeil finally being heard by television viewers.
At the end of this clip, as the news of the president’s death was made offiial, the only visual was a photo held up to the cameras of the motorcade right before the shooting.
These were the early days of full-fledged television news, when the networks typically had only a 15-minute summary each day.