Best 22487 quotes in «art quotes» category

Don't we all know that art is dangerous. You play it - then you live it.

Do we create an impact to make money or de we make money to create an IMPACT ?

Do you know how hard it is to paint kindness?” She leaned her hip against a desk in the corner of the room, still watching me. “It’s the only part of a person I really want to capture. Everything else seems to get lost in layers of deception or defensiveness. But not kindness. You can’t hide it. And people either are or they aren’t.

Do you know what I have been involuntarily thinking, that in the first period of an artist’s life, one unconsciously makes it very hard for oneself – by a feeling of not being able to master the work – by an uncertainty as to whether one will ever master it – by a great ambition to make progress, but a lack of self-confidence – one cannot banish a certain feeling of agitation, and one hurries oneself though one doesn’t like to be hurried . . . This cannot be helped, and it is a time which one must go through, and which in my opinion cannot and should not be otherwise.

Do you know why we have the sunflowers? It’s not because Vincent van Gogh suffered. It’s because Vincent van Gogh had a brother who loved him. Through all the pain, he had a tether, a connection to the world. And that is the focus of the story we need – connection.

Do you know where your breakthrough begins? Your breakthrough begins where your excuses ends.

Do you want to know why I don't like the so-called connoisseurs of arts? I hate hypocrisy. I'll give you an example: if the movie is colored and tells us about two friends who sit in the pool, fart into the water, get out of the pool and fart into each other's face it will be thrash, a lack of a culture and a third-rate comedy. But if the movie is black-and-white and tells us about two friends who cross the desert and peeing on each other, shit on the sand, and then they eat each other's shit, and on top of that they fucking each other's ass it will be a brilliant art house movie.

Drawing is the art of being able to leave an accurate record of the experience of what one isn't, of what one doesn't know. A great drawer is either confirming beautifully what is commonplace or probing authoritatively the unknown. ::: Brett Whiteley :::

Draw the art you want to see, start the business you want to run, play the music you want to hear, write the books you want to read, build the products you want to use – do the work you want to see done.

Do you want to feel better or do you want to get well are two different things. Some people go to church to feel better but never get well. Some come to church for comfort and leave unchanged. And that is what sin represents. ..it is a place to be comfortable thereby feeling normal in your own disfunction.

Drawing and painting is like a quickie in bed. Were as novel writing is a long term relationship, much more fulling.

Drawing, painting and sculpture partake of the physical world and are sensory, while writing is conceptual. This distinction blurs, however, when one considers that there is pleasure in rhyme, rhythm, and meter, which is musical, somatic, and sensual enough to provoke physical response.

Dreams don't have time. Neither does sleep, nor death. That's why it is sometimes good to wear a watch.

Dreams. They start in your beautiful mind. Think of beautiful things and it will manifest into actions because your body will listen to you. Like it always does.

drugged to sleep by repetition of the diurnal round, the monotonous sorrow of the finite, within       I am awake repairing in dirt the frayed immaculate thread forced by being to watch the birth of suns

Durant le Moyen Age, les jambes nues d’une femme pouvait représentées de l’innocence perdue. Aujourd’hui, les jambes d’une femme peuvent représentées une forme de divinité.

Duchamp had taken art to its logical conclusion. Every act of perception is art. So everything that perceives is an artist.

During the act of making something, I experience a kind of blissful absence of the self and a loss of time. When I am done, I return to both feeling as restored as if I had been on a trip. I almost never get this feeling any other way. I once spent sixteen hours making 150 wedding invitations by hand and was not for one instance of that time tempted to eat or look at my watch. By contrast, if seated at the computer, I check my email conservatively 30,000 times a day. When I am writing, I must have a snack, call a friend, or abuse myself every ten minutes. I used to think that this was nothing more than the difference between those things we do for love and those we do for money. But that can't be the whole story. I didn't always write for a living, and even back when it was my most fondly held dream to one day be able to do so, writing was always difficult. Writing is like pulling teeth. From my dick.

Each creature is a unique piece of art to be respected and believed in. once we realise this, equality follows.

Each age, each guilty age, builds high walls round its Versailles; and personally I hate those walls most when they are made by literature and art.

Each of you will have a chance to play it, and whosoever plays most sweetly, you will have it. For art is more than virtue or vice.

Each piece was a snow globe of emotion and instinct. And the music-- that was another language entirely.

Each time we bow to the feet of anything we find riveting, the mind rises to be surprised with new crowning diamonds of creativity.

Eating your own heart simply to keep the strangers from tasting: a suicide.

Early in this century a group of passionate artists in Russia claimed that the essence of art was to make the familiar seem strange. Perhaps this is also one of the roles of the exotic, to alter and sharpen our perceptions.

Eating Fruit at the Grand Canyon- A song to make death easy Since this great hole in earth is beyond My comprehension and I am hungry, I sit on the rim and eat fruit The colors of the stone i see, Strawberries of iron cliffs, sagebrush melons, white sand apple, grapes The barely purple of the stonewashed slopes, And every color I eat is in my vision, Colonized by my eye, by me and everyone I have known, so vast, so remote, That we can only gaze at ourselves, wondering At our reaches, eat fat fruit while we Grow calm if we can, our folded Rocky interiors pressed upwards through Our throats, side canyons seeming almost Accessible, the grand river of blood Carving us even as we sit, devouring Color that will blush on our skin Nourish us so that we may climb The walls of the interior, bewildered, Tremulous, but observant as we move Down in, one foot, another, careful not to fall, to fall, The fruit fueling us in subtle Surges of color in this vastly deep Where birds make shadow and echo And we have no idea Why we cannot comprehend ourselves, Each other, a place so deep and bright It has no needs and we wonder What we’re doing here on this fragment Of galactic dust, spinning, cradled, Awestruck, momentarily alive.

Eccentric and secret genius that he was, Bosch not only moved the heart, but scandalized it into full awareness. The sinister and monstrous things that he brought forth are the hidden creatures of our inward self-love: he externalizes the ugliness within, and so his misshapen demons have an effect beyond curiosity. We feel a hateful kinship with them. The Ship of Fools is not about other people. It is about us.

Education consists primarily in perfecting the art/science of connecting apparently disparate dots.

Echo of the waves appears in the sky, their lights reflected in your eyes. I'm back in our world and happy again. The sound of your voice, compassionate embrace... The power in your touch, serenity of stride... The beating of your heart calms down my presence, gracing with eternal peace of mind... Bathing in the sunshine of your arms I'm deeply aware of the melodic stream that has no language...gliding beneath the quiet Heaven of your eyes...

Écrire, c'est faire appel au lecteur pour qu'il fasse passer à l'existence objective le dévoilement que j'ai entrepris par le moyen du langage.

Edward Gibbon, in his classic work on the fall of the Roman Empire, describes the Roman era's declension as a place where "bizarreness masqueraded as creativity.

Edward genially enough did not disagree with what I said, but he didn't seem to admit my point, either. I wanted to press him harder so I veered close enough to the ad hominem to point out that his life—the life of the mind, the life of the book collector and music lover and indeed of the gallery-goer, appreciator of the feminine and occasional boulevardier—would become simply unlivable and unthinkable in an Islamic republic. Again, he could accede politely to my point but carry on somehow as if nothing had been conceded. I came slowly to realize that with Edward, too, I was keeping two sets of books. We agreed on things like the first Palestinian intifadah, another event that took the Western press completely off guard, and we collaborated on a book of essays that asserted and defended Palestinian rights. This was in the now hard-to-remember time when all official recognition was withheld from the PLO. Together we debated Professor Bernard Lewis and Leon Wieseltier at a once-celebrated conference of the Middle East Studies Association in Cambridge in 1986, tossing and goring them somewhat in a duel over academic 'objectivity' in the wider discipline. But even then I was indistinctly aware that Edward didn't feel himself quite at liberty to say certain things, while at the same time feeling rather too much obliged to say certain other things. A low point was an almost uncritical profile of Yasser Arafat that he contributed to Interview magazine in the late 1980s.

El arte es un don que repara el alma de los fracasos y sin sabores. Nos alienta a cumplir la utopía a la que fuimos destinados.

Emer was troubled at how all interpretation now devolved in matters of race or gender or religion. There was no art anymore, even in children's stories. Why wasn't the crow female? Why was The Creator a He? Wasn't Bald Eagle insensitive to men with hair loss? This is how we spend our time now.

El conocimiento pasa de la maestra a la estudiante mediante un proceso denominado mane. Aunque este término se traduce a menudo por "imitación", el aprendizaje de la danza va más allá de la simple copia y exige una profunda identificación. Repetimos los movimientos de la profesora hasta que somos capaces de reproducirlos con exactitud o hasta que, en cierto modo, nos hemos impregnado de su maestría. Si deseamos expresar lo que hay en nuestros corazones, la técnica artística debe incorporarse por completo a las células de nuestro cuerpo, algo que requiere muchos años de práctica.

El crítico es quien puede traducir de manera distinta o con nuevos materiales su impresión de la belleza.

Embracing the Light Collected bits of truth Shimmering sparks Shards of light Merge Healing Restoring Bursting Bright Rising in divine ecstatic flame.

Endurance is the art of survival.

...emotions fly humans toward art

En d'autres termes, au lieu de considérer l'art comme un luxe accessoire pour une classe privilégiée, le socialiste revendique l'art comme une nécessité de la vie humaine dont la société n'a le droit de priver auun de ses citoyens. Il revendique aussi le droit pour chaque citoyen de se consacrer au travail qui lui convient le mieux.

Enjoy the brush strokes of life and try not to worry about filling the canvas.

En asuntos de arte la modestia no es una virtud.

Energy manipulation took place completely in mind,same way believing in telepathy caused telepathic abilities to grow STRONGER.

Enlighten yourself and you will enlighten the viewer. - Jean-Christophe Ammann

Entertainment is business: the business of fucking art in the face.

...[E]ntertainment differs from art in that it manufactures experiences that cause us to forget, whereas art is preoccupied with creating experiences that allow us to remember.

Entertainment is about the way things should be. Art is about the way they are.

Era un pintor tan viejo que se le habían quedado calvos los pinceles. (He was such an old painter that his brushes had gone bald.)

Erik Satie died on July 1, 1925; his last words were 'Ah, the cows...

Entrepreneurship is an art, you do it because you love it.