Best 22487 quotes in «art quotes» category

We are what we build

We can never be entirely original, as artists or as people. The genius and vision of those who came before us is too great for us to digress from entirely. Though, as creatures that are compelled to test and surpass our own creative abilities, we must always strive for that originality in everything we do in order to move the world forward.

We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely. All art is quite useless.

We can’t worry about meaning. Ari proposed to us that meaning is a consumer item. Some people manufacture it through religion, philosophy, nationhood, politics, and some people buy it. But an artist is not a manufacturer.

We create our own reality. The blessing (or problem) with this is that when one creates one's own reality, one must live it! Are you living a blessing or is it a curse?

We crafted everything that hurt us into art.

We didn't come to the world just to entertain, we came to play remarkable roles, and our reward is to see you doing more than us.

We do not know whether this universe is infinite, but we know very well that the imagination power of art is infinite!

We don't need more museums that try to construct the historical narratives of a society, community, team, nation, state, tribe, company, or species. We all know that the ordinary, everyday stories of individuals are riches, more humane, and much more joyful.

We experience [procrastination] as fear. But fear of what? Fear of the consequences of following our heart. Fear of bankruptcy, fear of poverty, fear of insolvency. Fear of groveling when we try to make it on our own, and of groveling when we give up and come crawling back to where we started. Fear of being selfish, of being rotten wives or disloyal husbands; fear of failing to support our families, of sacrificing their dreams for ours. Fear of betraying our race, our 'hood, our homies. Fear of failure. Fear of being ridiculous. Fear of throwing away the education, the training, the preparation that those we love have sacrificed so much for, that we ourselves have worked our butts off for. Fear of launching into the void, of hurtling too far out there; fear of passing some point of no return, beyond which we cannot recant, cannot reverse, cannot rescind, but must live with this cocked-up choice for the rest of our lives. Fear of madness. Fear of insanity. Fear of death. These are serious fears. But they're not the real fear. Not the master fear, the mother of all fears that's so close to us that even when we verbalize it we don't believe it. Fear That We Will Succeed.

We don’t wish the day away. We embrace every second. Every new sunrise brings the possibility of possibilities.

We form a mental map, and then that shape, shapes us

We follow a rule until we feel like breaking it.

We have all read in scientific books, and, indeed, in all romances, the story of the man who has forgotten his name. This man walks about the streets and can see and appreciate everything; only he cannot remember who he is. Well, every man is that man in the story. Every man has forgotten who he is. One may understand the cosmos, but never the ego; the self is more distant than any star. Thou shalt love the Lord thy God; but thou shalt not know thyself. We are all under the same mental calamity; we have all forgotten our names. We have all forgotten what we really are. All that we call common sense and rationality and practicality and positivism only means that for certain dead levels of our life we forget that we have forgotten. All that we call spirit and art and ecstasy only means that for one awful instant we remember that we forgot.

We have our Arts so we won't die of Truth

[W]e have reason to ask what artists are working specially for children, and whether they are running with the popular tide or saying something special.... In America, we had the 'parlor gift book' makers, but we also had Howard Pyle.

We here meet a completely new conception of art; it is no longer a means towards an end, but an end in itself. At its origin, every form of spiritual endeavour is entirely determined by the useful purpose it serves, but such forms have the power and tendency to break free from their original purpose and make themselves independent; they become purposeless and to some extent autonomous. As soon as man feels secure and free from the immediate pressure of the struggle for life, he begins to play with the spiritual resources which he had originally developed as weapons and tools to aid him in his necessity. He begins enquiring into causes, seeking for explanations, researching into connections which have little or nothing to do with his struggle for life. Practical knowledge gives place to free enquiry, means for the mastery of nature become methods for discovering abstract truth. And thus art, originally a mere handmaid of magic and ritual, an instrument of propaganda and panegyric, a means to influence gods, spirits and men, becomes a pure, autonomous, ‘disinterested’ activity to some extent, practised for its own sake and for the beauty it reveals. In the same way, the commands and prohibitions, the duties and taboos, which were originally just expedients to make a common life in society possible, give rise to a doctrine of ethics that sets out to realize and perfect the moral personality. The Greeks were the first people to complete this transition from the instrumental to the ‘autonomous’ form of activity, whether in science, art or morality. Before them there was no free enquiry, no theoretical research, no rational knowledge and no art as we understand art—as an activity whose creations may always be considered and enjoyed as pure forms. This abandonment of the old view that art is only valuable and intelligible as a weapon in the struggle for life, in favour of a new attitude which treats it as mere play of line and colour, mere rhythm and harmony, mere imitation or interpretation of reality—this is the most tremendous change that has ever occurred in the whole history of art.

Welcome to Planet Earth, find your existential avant-garde.

Welcome to the only class that will teach you how to survive. Welcome to Art.

We live in a world when men treat art as if it were meant to be a form of autobiography. We have lost the abstract sense of beauty.

Well, art is art, isn't it? Still, on the other hand, water is water! And east is east and west is west and if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does. Now, uh... now you tell me what you know.

We live in societies that if we are not true to ourselves, someone else will determine the truth for you and that sucks! How sad it must be to wake up every day knowing that you are not at peace with who you are. You become an imposter in your own life

Well, I'm not defining good and bad art, except, that art that appeals to me or repels me is good. Art that bores me is bad.

We live today amid ritualized anithumanisms. Among those intelligent enough to feel despair, some seek salvation in the literary artist. Artists love flattery; and the scam doesn't work without mystifying the process. The weather is unpredictable, but it is not mysterious. Wall Street is unpredictable, but it is not mysterious. Writing is unpredictable, (like street and sky, there are too many variables.) Its mystery vanishes, like a shadow, the moment the light aimed at your characters turns back upon yourself.

Well then – I see two ways of letting things take their course – Create one’s own sensations with the help of a flamboyant collision of rare words – not often, mind you – or else neatly draw the angles, the squares, the entire geometry of feelings – those of the moment, naturally.

We make art so that we can feel life. We do science to understand it.

We make, see, and love films, not digitals. To convert all of our movies, home videos, theaters, photographs and television to digital would be like telling a painter to throw away his brushes and canvas for an I-Pad. Celluloid isn't just nostalgic, it's an art form and, like it or not, it's superior to digital. It lasts much longer, it provides grain and brighter colors, and it takes more effort so that it produces something wonderful. With the inferior binary codes, pixels and untested shelf-life of digital files, plus the fact that these days anyone with a digital camera, even a two-year-old, can make a video and pollute the world with self-photography and cat pictures, film has a lot more integrity and worth than digital.

We must change life,' the poet [Rimbaud] had written, and so the Situationists set out to transform everyday life in the modern world through a comprehensive program that included above all else the construction of 'situations' -- defined in 1958 as moments of life 'concretely and deliberately constructed by the collective organization of a unitary ambiance and a play of events' -- but that also necessary entailed the supersession of philosophy, the realization of art, the abolition of politics, and the fall of the 'spectacle-commodity economy.

We need our Arts to teach us how to breathe

We must live with our hearts in our hands - like Mary. We must hold the blood- red heart and no be disappointed when others look away.

We must never forget that creatives are possibility makers.

We need heroes, however outlandish, because although we might not be slaying real dragons, we all have our quests.

We need beauty now more than ever before. But I have grown impatient with the beautiful art of galleries & museums, with auctions & collections & commissions, with curators & prizes & award galas. They operate in a world where beautiful things are made & sold & that transaction is final & enough.

We possess art lest we perish of the truth.

We should remember that all the arts are fine arts and all the arts decorative arts.

We’re all in a process of becoming. I’m never satisfied with my works. Never. I never see them as a finished product. Life is change. Change is life. Life is art. Art is life.

...we see this tendency to throw off restraints in life, in art - it's an inglorious gesture of thumbing the nose - it makes me laugh...

We suffered for our art. You have to suffer for our art as well!

We're all broken in one way or another, but it's through the cracks in our souls that the light comes through. And the light, Jenny, that's our art. Now, paint. Paint as if your life depends on it.

We're not copying life, we're making a comment on it.

We shouldn’t abbreviate the truth but rather get a new method of presentation.

We stand on the edge of national metamorphosis armed with hope and lengthy dreams, and the desire to leave the mistakes of the past far, far behind us. Some wake to a blessed plague of amnesia hoping never to recover the damage that was done. Some keep marching forward feeling the heavy ache of everything they wish to change about themselves and our nation dragging behind them like a long, prolonged shadow. And still others shine above the sun, sparkling like raging cosmonauts, propelled by the strength and power of their pathological optimism. I tend to slingshot between all 3 of these distinct planets with unruly fortitude. This is where art comes in. It helps me deal with my compulsive randomness, and allows me to abate life's repressions while exploring all possibilities of transformation and growth. And for this, I am eternally grateful.

We sing lyrical excess, exacerbated expressionism, imponed objectivity, inventiveness, meta-baroque, extravaganza, super metaphor, sublimity, strident, exposure, super-pone, noise, super-objectivity, zillionism, fragmentation and aesthetics of facts, suractivism.

We tend to think that what matters is decided by society or culture or religion or our peers, but no one can say what truly matters except us.

We were created to look at one another, weren't we

We will feel conviction about the things we create only if we keep discovering, within those creations, new reasons for wanting them to be that way.

We were in Julie’s room one night, my eldest daughter and I, maybe a decade ago now. I wanted to show her how the canvas painting she had carefully labored over for her little sister's Christmas gift was framed and hung on the wall. I said, gazing at her masterpiece with no small amount of motherly pride, “Now it looks like a real work of art”. Bella looked at me quizzically, wondering yet again how her mother could possibly understand so little about the world. “Mama, every time you make something, or draw something, or paint something, it is already real art. There is no such thing as art that is not real” And so I said that she was right, and didn’t it look nice, and once again, daughter became guru and mother became willing student. Which is, I sometimes think, the way it was meant to be. ~~~~~ art is always real. all of it. even the stuff you don’t understand. even the stuff you don’t like. even the stuff that you made that you would be embarrassed to show your best friend that photo that you took when you first got your DSLR, when you captured her spirit perfectly but the focus landed on her shoulder? still art. the painting you did last year the first time you picked up a brush, the one your mentor critiqued to death? it’s art. the story you are holding in your heart and so desperately want to tell the world? definitely art. the scarf you knit for your son with the funky messed up rows? art. art. art. the poem scrawled on your dry cleaning receipt at the red light. the dress you want to sew. the song you want to sing. the clay you’ve not yet molded. everything you have made or will one day make or imagine making in your wildest dreams. it’s all real, every last bit. because there is no such thing as art that is not real.

We would go out and play these songs and people could interpret them however the hell they wanted.

We zijn inferieure schepselen, net goed genoeg om te jongen. We hebben eierstokken, moeten ons er iedere maand bij neerleggen dat we bloeden, we zijn afhankelijk van de maan. Onze hersenen zijn minder ontwikkeld dan die van onze metgezellen en onze lichaamskracht is geringer. In alle omstandigheden zijn we emotioneler. Als een vrouw ziet dat een rivale mooiere schoentjes draagt dan zij zelf, zal ze niet ophouden de ander omlaag te halen en te kwetsen. Kun je je twee mannen voorstellen die elkaar verfoeien vanwege hun molières? Mannen wedijveren met elkaar op het niveau van geld, ambitie en intelligentie. Zij hebben het vermogen tot afstand nemen en onthechting, terwijl vrouwen iedere beheersing verliezen zodra ze een poederdoos of een ring zien. Nooit zal een vrouw een Michelangelo, een Bach of een Palladio zijn. Grote filosofen met een rok aan bestaan niet. Hoe wil je dat ze systemen ontwerpen zoals Kant, Hegel of Marx? Een dergelijk abstraherend vermogen kan niet ontstaan in de geest van een pop.

What a face this girl possessed!—Could I neither die then nor gaze at her face every day, I would need to recreate it through painting or sculpture, or through fatherhood, until a second such face could be born.