Whаt distinguishes the Mаxаm-Gilbert methоd frоm the Sanger methоd in terms of mechanism?
Whаt dоes the wоrd derivаtive meаn as it is used in the passage?
Why dо we hаve аrt? It exists becаuse the artist himself can dо nо other than obsessively explain and reveal. For some, art is catharsis, and Picasso was one of these continually cathartic artists. The end of one work became the beginning of the next. “There is never a moment when you can say, ‘I’ve worked well and tomorrow is Sunday,’” said Picasso. “As soon as you stop, it’s because you’ve started again —the curse of the compulsive genius. And as Gertrude Stein observed: “He always has need of emptying himself, it is necessary that he should be greatly stimulated so that he could be active enough to empty himself completely.” Again, Picasso himself: “I have only one thought: work.” He worked to reveal the danger confronting him: his own annihilation. And he worked efficiently. No time was squandered; no thing and no person spared. Most obviously floating dead in the flotsam of Picasso’s life were “his women,”—all except one. Between 1904, when he settled permanently in France, and his death in 1973, countless women entered and exited Picasso’s world. He needed the relationships. Verbal abuse was the opening volley. Two sayings Picasso often repeated were: “There is nothing so similar to one poodle dog as another poodle dog, and that goes for women, too;” and “For me, there are only two kinds of women—goddesses and doormats.” After the birth of his wife’s second child, he said: “You look like a broom. Do you think brooms appeal to anybody? They don’t to me.” Then there was the physical abuse. Olga was knocked down and dragged by her hair around the floor of the apartment on Rue La Boétie. Dora was knocked unconscious in the studio in Rue des Grands Augustins. Françoise was nearly bitten by three Mediterranean scorpions while Picasso laughed delightedly—deadly Scorpio was his zodiacal sign. Once in Golfe-Juan he burned Gilot’s face with a lighted cigarette. Burning seems to have appealed to Picasso: “Every time I change wives, I should burn the last one. That way I’d be rid of them. They wouldn’t be around now to complicate my existence. Maybe that would bring back my youth, too. You kill the woman and you wipe out the past she represents." Perhaps because they, too, were creators, Picasso feared and hated women. Having terrorized his women in life, now-energized Picasso set about transferring his psychic state into visual form—his art. “He first raped the woman . . . and then he worked. Whether it was me, or someone else, it was always like that,” recounted Marie-Thérèse Walter. More could be said, but the point is made, and Picasso knew it well. He was a monster. But in his mind only a monster could subdue another monster, and for Picasso that other monster was the specter of his own death. Destroy it before it destroys you. This is what his art required. “They [the public] expect to be shocked and terrorized. If the monster only smiles, then they’re disappointed.” Of course, this monstrous fight left collateral damage, the female victims. The list of the dead and wounded is long, but Picasso didn’t much care. “Nobody has any real importance for me. As far as I’m concerned, other people are like those little grains of dust floating in the sunlight. It takes only a push of the broom and out they go.” Accordingly, out went his children (except Paulo) and grandchildren, all of whom he refused to see. What does the word squandered mean as it is used in the passage?