art

Art is long and life is short.

If we are artists- hell, whether or not we're artists- it is our job, our responsibility, perhaps even our sacred calling, to take whatever life has handed us and make something new, something that wouldn't have existed if not for the fire, the genetic mutation, the sick baby, the accident.

There was no point in doing art if you were going to be second-rate.

the painter had no need for grammar.words fell from his brushes already knowing where to stand, sit, lie down.

Begging is much more difficult than it looks. Contrary to popular belief, it__ a high art form that takes years of dedicated practice to master.

I like living, breathing better than working...my art is that of living. Each second, each breath is a work which is inscribed nowhere, which is neither visual nor cerebral, it's a sort of constant euphoria.

yes, i have dated Salvador Dali guy when i was a high school girl. he was a great lover. but i had to dump him because he stole my inspiration of bent clock*~* .... who cares...

When you paint late at night, drinking beer or wine or both, you gotta be very careful to watch what you are doing...

I opened the door and stepped in. Raw pain filled me at the sight of my painting. 'Show me what it looked like, before the fire.' His request surprised me, but I did as he asked. With eyes closed, I projected the exact details of the painting I had poured my soul into. Just as I had experienced his love of surfing in a visceral way, he shared not just the visual beauty of my work, but the love and passion with which I had dedicated myself to it. 'Thank you. Now, it will never truly be gone.' I choked back a sob and went to Mr. K's office.

She never looked nice.She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.

At the end of the day your ability to connect with your readers comes down to how you make them feel.

Through depression and many other dark low emotions, our Light dims and our immune system declines along with it. White blood cells are the physical Light of our body.Colors can be used to heal, restore and to uplift us.

The sign of the amateur is overglorification of and preoccupation with the mystery. The professional shuts up. She doesn't talk about it. She does her work.

The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist; a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain.

General sentiment, had a poll been taken, was that eventually the negative media would die down, Egypt's head of antiquities would return to Cairo, and St. Louis would enjoy her treasure. But treasures sometimes have a higher price than their acquisition cost.

Don't wanna ever take your shoes off in coconut land. Never know when you're gonna have to run.

One thing, however, did become clear to him__hy so many perfect works of art did not please him at all, why they were almost hateful and boring to him, in spite of a certain undeniable beauty. Workshops, churches, and palaces were full of these fatal works of art; he had even helped with a few himself. They were deeply disappointing because they aroused the desire for the highest and did not fulfill it. They lacked the most essential thing__ystery. That was what dreams and truly great works of art had in common: mystery.

What is aesthetically beautiful, should not be able to be understood fully: by its mysterious character it should leave behind a vaguely pleasant feeling.