In her dust-choked home town on the Adriatic coast, where "the spring roses were expiring in the parks" and the graffiti reads "Stranger, the law does not protect you here", twentysomething Dada is at a loose end.
In Breastful of Meat, against a pleasant mint green background, feminine hands with painted red nails cradle a gory glob of raw meat, truncated breasts, and spring roses.
Thomas Osborne (1999: 47) speaks of 'self-creation', while Nikolas Rose, following his analysis of the 'death of the social' and apparent denial therefore of any politics that might be built from this (now absent) well-spring (Rose, 1996), suggests that in this post-social age 'each person's life should be its own telos'.
Ask God if He or She would mind leaving a little "souvenir" of the occasion, like a healing spring or roses that bloom in winter.
One day, she got hit in the neck by an extra flying through the air on a rope and was quite surprised when the director didn't immediately yell, "Cut!" She said she knew her neck injury was serious when the low-budget production sprung for roses while she was recovering.
ON another spring day, Ms. Rose sauntered through the Garden restaurant at the Four Seasons hotel in Midtown Manhattan, her waifish silhouette accentuated by black stiletto heels and dark leggings, her short dress shifting beneath a hip-length black leather jacket.
These are the sorts of questions that spring out from Rose Lewenstein's new play, Now This Is Not The End a story that follows the lives of three generations of women and delves into the idea that identity can be passed down through memory.
Spring is springing everywhere this mild December, the garden all confusion; roses back in bloom, spring bulbs pushing up through the autumn seedheads.
Pinch the bottom of the coil with the thumb and forefinger of your left hand (the job of this hand is to catch the folds as the right hand makes them - and to stop the rose springing open).
She recognized the white unicorn, an old friend from the reproduction of the tapestry tacked up on our kitchen cupboard, and said with sparkling eyes that she would certainly come back in the spring to see the rose trees flower.
