Sentences with phrase «movements come in waves»

From Art Deco to Swiss Style to Grunge, design movements come in waves and unsurprisingly,...

Not exact matches

Yeah, Polak is a garbage fire in one of the kitchen and it would be better to not have a garbage fire in one of the kitchen than to have one, but there are some bigger holes like a hepatitis B outbreak aka Andersen not stopping pucks, the first mate has launched a mutiny movement aka out their 2C for a just suspension, 30 foot waves coming in aka lost Komarov to injury, no radio communication aka Zaitsev looks completely lost, the bottom 2 decks are entirely submerged aka they have no answer for the Bruins top line, the life boats are made of cheap dry wall aka the PP and PK are MIA...

We can not make a swooping change, change comes in waves with movement.

Ladies...» And there was a great wave of movement throughout the masses, and hundreds, thousands of women came to their feet — young, old, a pink blizzard of carnations — all of them bathing in the cheers and whistles of the multitude.

First, I was born in Berlin, Germany, of Polish Jewish parents, fled the Nazi regime with my parents, and came to the US, where I became a founder of the second wave of the women's movement.

Features One Button Action — easy to learn, hard to master gameplay designed to use one action button and the Directional Buttons / Left Stick for movement Mambo Multiplayer — roughhouse up to four of your friends / enemies in 25 stages of «Mambo» Flimsy Architecture — breakable environment for reactive gameplay Loser Rail — the feature designed to give you a second chance, for those of you not good enough to win Solo Mode — 70 + Singleplayer stages designed to test your might Survival Mode — Survive the endless waves of Personal - Space invaders as they try and breach your personal space Play with up to four players on one Nintendo Switch ™ system Colour Accessibility — Enhance player visibility, by editing a palette of player colours that best suit you More updates to come!

While enemies came in waves and you tended to barrel down into scripted fights, the sense of freedom in terms of movement was and still is unparalleled.

Minimalism came in a great wave of postwar American movements — and as a clean break with one them, Abstract Expressionist New York.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,