"This land," the late Jack B. Yeats once said, "is full to the brim of all things that lend themselves best to pictorial memories." The land was Ireland, and no man ever painted its dancing skies and robustly sentimental people with greater insight or exuberance. Today, the fame of Poet-Brother William Butler Yeats has partly eclipsed his own, but if Jack Yeats is less known than he deserves, it is largely his own doing. He refused to have his paintings reproduced during his lifetime, exhibited rarely and reluctantly. Last week, four years after...
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