Hoarse-voiced Joseph Drummer, one of the shrewdest of Manhattan art dealers, invited critics and the public last week to an exhibition of fancy work. In a season that promises to be one of the richest New
York has seen since Depression, this was a show not to be missed. With the exception of two pieces, one that could not be borrowed and another that had been stolen, it contained all the work in wool embroidery that Marguerite Thompson Zorach has ever done, all she will ever do. No humble samplers, the embroidered pictures...
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