art

I believe that architecture is a pragmatic art. To become art it must be built on a foundation of necessity.

As most of us know, the proper attitude toward ourselves is called __ood self-esteem._ But self-esteem isan art. An art of balance. A balance between thinking too little of ourselves, and thinking too much ofourselves.The name for thinking too much of ourselves is __gotism._ So, how do we adopt the proper attitude toward our gifts__peaking of them honestly, humbly,gratefully__ithout sounding egotistical? Just this: the more you see your own gifts clearly, the more youmust pay attention to the gifts that others have. The more sensitive you become to how unusual you are, themore you must become sensitive to how unusual those around you are. The more you pay attention toyourself, the more you must pay attention to others. The more you ponder the mystery of You, the more youmust ponder the mystery of all those you encounter, every loved one, every friend, every acquaintance,every stranger.Self-esteem is an art. It is the art of balance. A balance between thinking too little of ourselves, andthinking too much of ourselves. But we can only think too much of ourselves if we lose sight of others.Look at yourself, but equally look at them__ith wonder.That is the proper attitude we all should set as our goal.

The dictators, commanders or emperors who want to conquer the world soon realize that the world has already been conquered by the artists and their arts!

I barely registered moving into the long gallery, one hand absentmindedly wrapping around my throat as I looked up at the paintings.So many, so different, yet all arranged to flow together seamlessly... Such different views and snippets and angles of the world. Pastorals, portraits, still lifes . . . each a story and an experience, each a voice shouting or whispering or singing about what that moment, that feeling, had been like, each a cry into the void of time that they had been here, had existed. Some had been painted through eyes like mine, artists who saw in colors and shapes I understood. Some showcased colors I had not considered; these had a bend to the world that told me a different set of eyes had painted them. A portal into the mind of a creature so unlike me, and yet . . . and yet I looked at its work and understood, and felt, and cared.

Art is meant to provoke emotions, Avery. Its sole purpose is to arouse our senses, even if it disturbs. Even if it__ ugly. Even if it fucking scares the living shit out of you.

When the music comes, you try to see it shining between your eyes. Like threads stretched taut and the notes as colored beads threaded on. When you get very good, it's as if you can see inside the music, through it. You bring the music alive, bring it into being. As if you're the one composing.

Exactly. The dots guy. I've always thought getting older was a bit like looking at those paintings. You're born, and that's when you're standing right up next to the canvas. Nothing makes any sense. There's just a lot of light and color. But as you get older, you begin to back away, and that's when the image starts to cohere. All those little spots of color turn into flowers, or people, or dogs. You gain perspective.

A work of art is somehow organic, and to slash a painting or smash a statue is not just an offence against property: it is an offence against life.

It was shameless how life made fun of one; it was a joke, a cause for weeping! Either one lived and let one's senses play, drank full at the primitive mother's breast__hich brought great bliss but was no protection against death; then one lived like a mushroom in the forest, colorful today and rotten tomorrow. Or else one put up a defense, imprisoned oneself for work and tried to build a monument to the fleeting passage of life__hen one renounced life, was nothing but a tool; one enlisted in the service of that which endured, but one dried up in the process and lost one's freedom, scope, lust for life...Ach, life made sense only if one achieved both, only if it was not split by this brittle alternative! To create, without sacrificing one's senses for it. To live, without renouncing the mobility of creating. Was that impossible?

If you are only moved by color relationships, you are missing the point. I am interested in expressing the big emotions - tragedy, ecstasy, doom.

Being unemployed, Kurt set in motion a routine that he would follow for the rest of his life. He would rise at around noon and eat a brunch of sorts. Kraft Macaroni and Cheese was his favorite food. After eating, he would spend the rest of the day doing one of three things: watching television, which he did unceasingly; practicing his guitar, which he did for hours a day, usually while watching TV; or creating some kind of art project, be it a painting, collage, or three-dimensional installation. This last activity was never formal_ he rarely identified himself as an artist__et he spent hours in this manner.

We are all born as storytellers. Our inner voice tells the first story we ever hear.

Behind every creative act is a statement of love. Every artistic creation is a statement of gratitude.

Grant me the following in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Like a leper rotting in flesh, let all avoid me. Like a cripple without limbs, let me not move freely. Remove my cheeks, the tears may not roll down them. Crush my lips and tongue, that I may not sin with them. Pull out my nails, that I may not grasp nothing. Let my shoulders and back be bent, that I may carry nothing. Like a man with tumor in the head let me lack judgment. Ravage my body sworn to chastity leave me with no pride, and have me live in shame. Let no one pray for me. But only the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on me.

I don't like shit too perfect. I want some human stake in my shit. If it's too perfect I ain't really with it. If it's too clean I ain't really with it. If it's too polished I don't really like it.

that willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith

After sex & metaphysics,__ what?What you have made.

... That little narrative is an example of the mathematician__ art: asking simple and elegant questions about our imaginary creations, and crafting satisfying and beautiful explanations. There is really nothing else quite like this realm of pure idea; it__ fascinating, it__ fun, and it__ free!