Best 8185 quotes in «artist quotes» category

The supreme art is the art of being happy with the simplest things and the greatest artist is the person who performs this art excellently in his everyday life!

The touch of chaos in the order - art required that.

The tranquil beauty of the taintless nature stills here;decked with,asters,amaryllis and bluebells;such sweet incense never dies from his lonely heart,who loves to imbue his solitude in his art!

The very first thing I remember in my early childhood is a flame, a blue flame jumping off a gas stove somebody lit... I remember being shocked by the whoosh of the blue flame jumping off the burner, the suddenness of it... I saw that flame and felt that hotness of it close to my face. I felt fear, real fear, for the first time in my life. But I remember it also like some kind of adventure, some kind of weird joy, too. I guess that experience took me someplace in my head I hadn't been before... The fear I had was almost like an invitation, a challenge to go forward into something I knew nothing about. That's where I think my personal philosophy of life and my commitment to everything I believe in started... In my mind I have always believed and thought since then that my motion had to be forward, away from the heat of that flame.

The value of an artist is more because of his originality than his skill.

The whole world is like an opened candy jar, and we're plunging in for the best treats

The words of the Quran all seemed strangely familiar yet so unlike anything I had ever read before,’ he told us. He embraced Islam in 1977, and changed his name to Yusuf, the Arabic for Joseph. ‘I identified with the story of Joseph in the Quran,’ he said. ‘His brothers sold him like goods in the market place.’ Yusuf felt the music business had treated him not like an artist but as a commodity.

They were both young men under thirty. Art is not so precocious as literature, and does not send quite so many early potatoes into the market, so that the age of thirty is considered young enough for a painter to have learnt his business sufficiently to be marketable from the picture-dealing point of view. ("The Phantom Model")

Thinking outside of the box keeps you from suffocating inside of one.

Think not of the fragility of life, but of the power of books, when mere words can change our lives simply by being next to each other.

This assumption of the intrinsically repressive nature of collective experience and redemptive power of individuation is a staple of contemporary art theory and criticism. I would argue that a closer analysis of collaborative and collective art practices can reveal a more complex model of social change and identity, one in which the binary oppositions of divided vs. coherent subjectivity, desiring singularity vs. totalizing collective, liberating distanciation vs. stultifying interdependence, are challenged and complicated.

Think outside the box? Indeed. But to add balance to that, one should not in the process forget what the inside of the box looks like as well. Those who are best at thinking outside the box do it not to puff themselves up, but to see how small they really are. As a contented fish in its fish tank appears to have a small, boring existence to us, imagine a larger, more perceptive kingdom (even by scientific taxonomy) to whom our contented existences may appear to be small and boring. This is where true creativity and massive perceptive abilities spawn a sense of intellectual humility; the kind which God adores.

This is what the great artists manage. They flatter us, by observing better than others and then speaking to each of us as individuals and in a language that we worry we may be the only ones left caring for.

Tipani flower skies blazing rapture of color laced tree crowns silhouettes along the ocean diamond necklaced beach...of my heart in fragrance of love spilled by caressing kisses of the sun opening the gates to dive deep through away to horizons with no return...

To be inspired is great, but to inspire is an honor.

To fall in love with pain is to fall in love with art.

To get from the tangible to the intangible (which mature artists in any medium claim as part of their task) a paradox of some kind has frequently been helpful. For the photographer to free himself of the tyranny of the visual facts upon which he is utterly dependent, a paradox is the only possible tool. And the talisman paradox for unique photography is to work "the mirror with a memory" as if it were a mirage, and the camera is a metamorphosing machine, and the photograph as if it were a metaphor…. Once freed of the tyranny of surfaces and textures, substance and form [the photographer] can use the same to pursue poetic truth" (Minor White, Newhall, 281).

To prove the (rather scurrile) point, the writer acts both roles—that of the giving mother and the recipient child—on his own person. He gives to himself, out of himself, beautiful words and ideas, thus establishing an autarchy. That "magic gesture," acted on oneself, showing how the neurotic child in the writer allegedly wanted to be treated—kindly and lovingly—presents in the adult an unconscious tendentious alibi and is specific for the artist. Whereas the typical neurotic needs two people (himself and an object) for unconscious re-enactment of an infantile fantasy, the writer combines both roles into one.

There’s nothing that makes an artist more beloved than the audience pitying him because his work comes at a price they would never pay.

The serenity of the lulling ocean is a wondrous thing to behold..more precious than the gems coveted and covered in platinum or gold...

The shades of colours are splendid.

The sky blue strengthens slowly, the dawn light rosy and pale the summer song of our romance begin to unveil...with every heart beat and the waves' breath...the time stood in harmony still. Your morning kiss my hands could feel...by your lips soft, so warm, so very gentle, nice and full of life...

The soul of an artist cannot be muted indefinitely. It must either be expressed or it will consume the host.

The spirit of an artist's gifts can wake our own.

The storm is an artist; the rainbow is its masterpiece.

The study of beauty is a duel in which the artist cries out in terror before being vanquished.

The temptation is always to think of Las Vegas as a gambling mecca, the ‘Entertainment Capital of the World’. Well, it’s that. But, it’s a lot more than that as well. There are beautiful natural rock formations, rare plants and animals, and even pseudo-alpine regions. Just because you can see for a hundred miles doesn’t mean that there’s nothing there to see, and open desert allows you to see things in a different way. There is nothing to block your view, and nothing to hide behind.

The thing about being a screenwriter, scriptwriter, or scenarist, You get to have multiple personalities and not be charged!

The working artist will not tolerate trouble in her life because she knows trouble prevents her from doing her work.

The world accommodates you for fitting in, but only rewards you for standing out.

Thinking outside of the box is unnecessary when there are no boxes in your imagination.

Think not of the fragility of life, but of the power of books, when mere words have the ability to change our lives simply by being next to each other.

This is almost always the case: A piece of art receives its f(r)ame when found offensive.

This is for everyone who has ever looked at the stars, or gazed from atop a hill, or across the sea and wondered...

This is the only real concern of the artist, to recreate out of the disorder of life that order which is art.

To be happy to be sad and sad to be happy is to sing an echo in that beautiful language called Sorrow.

To be ordinary, be normal; to be original, be different; to be valuable, be unique; to be priceless, be yourself.

Trapnel wanted, among other things, to be a writer, a dandy, a lover, a comrade, an eccentric, a sage, a virtuoso, a good chap, a man of honour, a hard case, a spendthrift, an opportunist, a raisonneur; to be very rich, to be very poor, to possess a thousand mistresses, to win the heart of one love to whom he was ever faithful, to be on the best of terms with all men, to avenge savagely the lightest affront, to live to a hundred full of years and honour, to die young and unknown but recognized the following day as the most neglected genius of the age. Each of these ambitions had something to recommend it from one angle or another, with the possible exception of being poor - the only aim Trapnel achieved with unqualified mastery - and even being poor, as Trapnel himself asserted, gave the right to speak categorically when poverty was discussed by people like Evadne Clapham.

Trauma and pain are the foundations of art. I believe that. When tragedy strikes, however, a muralist or a watercolorist has the opportunity to be a human being in the moment and an artist afterward. Faced with the death of a loved one, a sculptor or portraitist can first grieve, suffer, and heal--then create. Most artists go through life this way. They can react normally to the trials and tribulations of the human experience. They can pass through the world with compassion and comradeship. They can make their art later. Outside, elsewhere, beyond. But photography is immediate. It does not offer the luxury of time. Faced with blood, death, or transformation, a photographer has no choice but to reach for the camera. An artist first, a human being afterward. Photography is a neutral record of all events, a chronicle of things both sublime and terrible. By necessity, this work is made without emotion, without connection, without love.

True artists unburden their envies and work toward encouraging amateurs.

True art is thoughtful, emotional examination of how human themes impact the overall experience of existing. The rest is kitsch.

Trust me: if it doesn’t match: it will clash! Focusing on a stunning complimentary color instead of a close-but-not-quite-right one is one of the most helpful contributions you can make to the design.

Trust the vibes you get, energy doesn’t lie.

Try and make them understand that while artists can recycle their suffering in their art, I didn't know what to do with mine.

Truth? Sometimes I question every last thing I’m doing. Truth? Right now, those questions swirl every damn day. Is this also true for you? Still, we keep moving forward, you and I. We try new things. We doggedly keep on doing the old things because though they may not have worked in the past it doesn’t feel like crazy to continue, it feels like the space of trusting some wild sort of knowing. We love, good and hard. We show up for life. In the midst of depression, insanely messy houses, and bank accounts sliding closer and closer to that fine red line, and panic attacks, and kids who won’t listen but who damn well know how to question and love. And we make stuff. My god, the way we keep on making stuff. Because we can and we have to. Because it’s the only damn thing that feels right when everything else feels a hundred kinds of wrong. We create. Defiant and determined and true. Weary hearts brought to blazing life if only for those wild moments we dance with the muse.

Turn those deep feelings and obsessions of your heart into captivating pieces of literature.

Unleash your creativity and the universe will unleash its rewards.

Untamed thinking turns your life into a new art form. Dare to be an artist.

...unforgivingly, and forcefully magnificent...

Walk barefoot on your dogma… Art is a journey into your existential fairytale.