Best 99 quotes in «artistry quotes» category

Usually it's a pretty calculated, sustained, and slow process by which you develop something. The effect can be one of spontaneity, but that's part of the artistry.

A great magician is as divine as God and his stage is as majestic as the paradise.

Alexei has created a language of a hundred and twelve thousand words controlled by an elaborate syntax. It is a pity that no one can enjoy it along with Alexei, but he refuses to translate a single word. He has been accused of both narcissism and ostentation, but he is never offended. It is the typical artist, so he declares, who is mad for acclaim and whose self-esteem depends upon adulation. Alexei sees himself as a lonely man, indifferent to both praise and censure.” Wayness craned her neck. “He is now playing the concertina and dancing a jig, all at the same time. What do you make of that?” “It is just Alexei in one of his moods; it means nothing.

A lifetime had to be crafted, just like anything else, she thought, it had to be moulded and beaten and burnished in order to get the most out of it.

All art forms possess liberty beyond space and time, yet grounded by urgency of now, and a breath of truth.

A great magician is not more magical than other magicians; he is just more magical in his presentation.

An artist who works with his hands, his head and his heart at the same time creates a masterpiece.

A magician with decreasing practice sessions will give defective performances.

An artist need to be free in imagination and disciplined in execution.

An artist without an audience is like a jar without jelly. There doesn’t always need to be much jelly in the jar, nevertheless a jar without jelly would feel jealous and empty.

A bad magician never gets the good props.

And I Said To My Soul, Be Loud Madden me back to an afternoon I carry in me not like a wound but like a will against a wound Give me again enough man to be the child choosing my own annihilations To make of this severed limb a wand to conjure a weapon to shatter dark matter of the dirt daubers' nests galaxies of glass Whacking glints bash-dancing on the cellar's fire I am the sound the sun would make if the sun could make a sound and the gasp of rot stabbed from the compost's lumpen living death is me O my life my war in a jar I shake you and shake you and may the best ant win For I am come a whirlwind of wasted things and I will ride this tantrum back to God until my fixed self, my fluorescent self my grief–nibbling, unbewildered, wall–to–wall self withers in me like a salted slug

A red nose is the clown's mask and my moustache is mine.

Artistry, perhaps, is at its core being able to control change in interesting ways.

As a general rule, in the world of magic, the most successful magician is the one who has enough patience to keep the secrets of his original magic effects.

As an artist you have to be really self-aware. As a songwriter, especially. You need to be aware enough to catch yourself creating similar things to what you have created before and steer away from that. You have to grow, otherwise you will lose people’s attention and you will get bored with yourself.

Be true to the artist in you and the art will be true to you.

Brush strokes write poetry harmonized through the cords of an artist's imagination. Color, contrast, simple compassion splattered across paper leaves tainted with the melody of the silent wind. Gasping, grasping, simply glancing at the souls of those who were not blessed with the visionary sight of inspirational artistry.

A scientist is proud of his intelligence, an artist is proud of his imagination.

Divinity is accident of nature, magic is the work of an art.

Be an artist, in whatever little faculty possible. For the Earth, without ‘Art’ is just ‘Eh

Don't squash creativity, inspire it!

Fame is a spiritual drug. It is often a by-product of our artistic work, but like nuclear waste, it can be a very dangerous by-product.

Fascinated by the great symbols of the collective history, I use them as an alphabet to communicate.

Every salad you serve is a picture you have painted, a sculpture you have modeled, a drama you have created.

Every word, every brushstroke, every note from an artist should be deliberately so.- Kailin Gow on Efficiency

General belief is “There is no real magic, only tricks” but a great magician compel people not to trust that belief and make them believe, after all "There does exist a real magic".

For more than three decades, coffee has captured my imagination because it is a beverage about individuals as well as community. A Rwandan farmer. Eighty roast masters at six Starbucks plants on two continents. Thousands of baristas in 54 countries. Like a symphony, coffee's power rests in the hands of a few individuals who orchestrate its appeal. So much can go wrong during the journey from soil to cup that when everything goes right, it is nothing short of brilliant! After all, coffee doesn't lie. It can't. Every sip is proof of the artistry -- technical as well as human -- that went into its creation.

Give royal treatment to your original magic effects, because one of the effects might make you the king of magic.

Force, in overabundance, is the enemy of artistry.

He was no god, just an artist; and when an artist is a man, he needs a woman to create like a god.

He who can command, he who is a ‘master’ by nature, he who is forceful in deed and gesture – what has he to do with contracts! Such beings violate our every assumption: they come unexpectedly, without cause, reason, notice, excuse; they appear as suddenly as lightning, and are too terrible, too sudden, too convincing, too ‘different’ even to be hated. Their work is the instinctive creation and imposition of forms; of all artists, their work is the most instinctive, unconscious – in connection with appearance there arises something new, a system of governance which is alive , in which the functions and parts are defined and related to one another, in which above all no part finds a place unless it has some ‘function’ in connection with the whole. These instinctive organizers, they know nothing of guilt, responsibility, consideration; they are subject to that terrible artist-egoism which gleams like brass, and which sees itself justified to all eternity, in its work, even as a mother sees in her child.

He was ... at peace with the world, for it is not in the praise of others that the true artist revels, but in the knowledge that he has satisfied himself.

If an artist can occupy the void of artistry while simultaneously parodying its iconography, they can have their metaphorical cake and cannibalise its crumbs too.

If you are really bored with life, just meet a decent magician and have a close up magic show, he will restore inspiration in your life.

If you ask a twenty-one-year-old poet whose poetry he likes, he might say, unblushing, "Nobody's," In his youth, he has not yet understood that poets like poetry, and novelists like novels; he himself likes only the role, the thought of himself in a hat.

I had artistic classical training, and when you learn the classics for so many years, you might gain audacity, power and confidence to subvert everything. I am like the originals buffoons. I love the rules because I can break them.

He locked himself up in his sanctuary of art and carried the keys with him at all times. He maintained the social façade for financial security. The more tragedies were shackled to his name, the more demand there was for his public persona to clean up after the family name and showcase his art to overshadow his domestic disasters. His prominent reputation in the limelight of the town kept buzzing while the man behind the infamy withered in privacy.

I can’t overstate how little I knew about myself at 22, or how little I’d thought about what I was doing. When I graduated from college I genuinely believed that the creative life was the apex of human existence, and that to work at an ordinary office job was a betrayal of that life, and I had to pursue that life at all costs. Management consulting, law school, med school, those were fine for other people — I didn’t judge! — but I was an artist. I was super special. I was sparkly. I would walk another path. And I would walk it alone. That was another thing I knew about being an artist: You didn’t need other people. Other people were a distraction. My little chrysalis of genius was going to seat one and one only.

If New Orleans is not fully in the mainstream of culture, neither is it fully in the mainstream of time. Lacking a well-defined present, it lives somewhere between its past and its future, as if uncertain whether to advance or to retreat. Perhaps it is its perpetual ambivalence that is its secret charm. Somewhere between Preservation Hall and the Superdome, between voodoo and cybernetics, New Orleans listens eagerly to the seductive promises of the future but keeps at least one foot firmly planted in its history, and in the end, conforms, like an artist, not to the world but to its own inner being--ever mindful of its personal style.

In time, all great masterpieces turn into shameless creatures who laugh at their creators.

I'm a Joker. Dangerous and silly at the same time.

Magic is not just for the entertainment, but to inspire people to be creative enough with their lives.

Marketing is so powerful that it can make even an extremely untalented musician a one-hundred-hits wonder.

Nothing I do is natural, realistic, organic or accidental. I'm never spontaneous, I'm completely premeditated.

I have a transgressive spirit, and Pop is transgression's best friend.

I paint the stuff I see when my eyes are closed

It is true that all men are created in the image of God, but Christians are supposed to be conscious of that fact, and being conscious of it should recognize the importance of living artistically, aesthetically, and creatively, as creative creatures of the Creator. If we have been created in the image of an Artist, then we should look for expressions of artistry, and be sensitive to beauty, responsive to what has been created for us” (p. 32).

It was a net from which it seemed to me, a few hours ago, that there was no possible escape. But he had not that supreme gift of the artist, the knowledge of when to stop. He wished to improve that which was already perfect . . . and so he ruined all.

Magic is logic.