Massachusetts College of Art and Design - Palette and Pen Yearbook (Boston, MA)

Page 25 text:

Armed to the teeth with hammers, saws, and first-aid kits, the Junior Designers, weaker sex included, erected a structure designed by the versatile Mr. Dunn of the Bauhaus. When the sawdust of battle had cleared, the builders stood back and gazed at the framework they had constructed and then they shifted their scrutiny towards their slightly bewildered Senior Design confreres and blandly stated, “This is where we came in.” So the Senior Designers, Mr. Palmstrom presiding, gathered up their brushes and paints and took up the task. Dismay was prevalent when it was found necessary to assume postures hardly encountered in the course of ordinary homework, but someone said, “Good ex- perience!” so the advice was accepted and work begun. With the approach of the inevitable deadline it was found neces- sary to call in extra hands. Our president, Mr. Reynolds, the faculty in charge, and the school engineer all contributed a loss of sleep and the exhibit was set up in all its glory, though something of a lesser word could be applied to the site which had been appropriated to the dis- play. Because of an oversight, or whatever such occurrences are called, our booth was set up outside the main hall, an unfortunate cir- cumstance, for in merit the display was second to none. And — oh, yes — they who were present to dismantle the exhibit on the final night received proper reward for their labor, for the dis- sembled display was temporarily stored in the stall which was to be occupied by Gene Autry’s horse the forthcoming week. ARTHUR SELLER

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COMMONWEALTH OF MASSACHUSETTS BRIDGEWATER FITCHBURG FRAMINGHAM HYAHNIS n department of education AT LONG LAST RECOGNITION In November, 1940, the dark shadov of precedent was shattered and Massachusetts Art entered a display booth at the annual Book Fair sponsored by the Herald-Traveler at the Boston Garden.

Page 26 text:

EXHIBITIONS OF THE SEASON— A REFLECTION ast year Picasso came to town and, in consequence, Boston knew how Paul Revere must have felt when he heard the British shuffling in. Anyway, there were very few reports of fainting dowagers or psychopathic maladies among col- leagues, and Massachusetts School of Art people, encouraged by an exuberant Miss Munsterberg, or goaded by a growling Mr. Major, crept into the Museum of Fine Arts and gaped. Many were enlightened, some were scandalized, none was corrupted. Ourselves, we struggled through what we hope has only jokingly been called a classic period, and were finally rewarded by “Guernica.” Picasso’s departure was less warm with eclat than his arrival; the Custom House is still erect. This year, in the svelte new rooms of the Institute of Modern Art on Beacon Street, we met Mr. Rouault, who vies with Picasso for honors in artistic radicalism. We liked his glowing melancholy color. He is noted mainly for heads of Christ and uniquely conceived clowns. We were disappointed in the sameness of his works, a sameness which prevailed even in subject matter to the point of monotony. He is the chap who paints like stained glass, but to our knowledge “Connick’s” hasn’t com- plained as yet. By this time one must have thought the Guild of Boston Artists would barricade their sidewalk, but they held aloof and presented an almost refreshing show of oils by Charles Curtis Allen, who has de-