She has avoided media scandal like Harry avoids the dementors.

“For whom does the telephone bell toll?”

No one does teenage fragility and aggrieved hostility better.

Hannibal Lecter purely represents a set of American angers and anxieties.

The “Master of Records” remains enigmatic despite his renown.

Her scowl says: I don’t belong to anybody but myself.

“OH BABY, YOU… YOU GOT WHAT I NEED!”

This Mexico-based artist put the “sur” in surrealism.

Grinding repetition and passive-aggressive monotony.

He invented a sound and lost his mind.

He smacks you from the horrible places you don’t let your head go.

“A woman whose life’s poetry never sank to prose.”

Stairways, backrooms, sofas and regular but uncommon stages.

“Let terror have his way, for he’s the best friend you’ve got.”

A torture-chamber of temporary adjustments.

From 1958 to 1966 she worked on, and worked over, a single painting.

The monkey grammarian plagued by conjunctions and disjunctions.

“Real painters do not paint things as they are.”

Seventies soul, eloquent monsters, Talmudic etiquette-parsing, Samuel L. Jackson.

The sexagenarian amateur who revolutionized crime scene investigation.

Trills, swoops, jungle calls, and deviations from the straight line.

He was John Brown and his people were slaves to big business hucksterism.

Warning messages, hysterical laughter, the cawing of crows and buzzards.

“SCHOOL DAZE sets race back 200 years.”