Quotes About Artist

I have come to believe that a great teacher is a great artist and that there are as few as there are any other great artists. Teaching might even be the greatest of the arts since the medium is the human mind and spirit.

I always considered myself being an organizer. I'm very good at teaching singers, I'm very good at staging a show, to entertain people. But I never included myself. I never applied this to me as an artist.

My entire philosophy of teaching is based on the notion that when an artist finds a certain process really effortless, that's probably what he or she should choose to do. So often, students take the opposite tack; they have no use for the skills that come easily to them.

When you face obstacles or go through different phases, I always relied on my music. I depend on my music, my teammates. So at the end of the day, having incredible music, for me, would keep me in the space I want to be as an artist.

I wrote and produced millions and millions of selling records, so my publishing company alone was worth millions of dollars. I didn't have to work anymore in life because when the rappers started sampling... I'm the most sampled artist in history.

I believe that when you're making a mix, you're making history. You ransack the vaults, you haul off all the junk you can carry, and you rewire all your ill-gotten loot into something new. You go through an artist's entire career, zero in on that one moment that makes you want to jump and dance and smoke bats and bite the heads off drugs. And then you play that one moment over and over.

I believe that when you're making a mix, you're making history. You ransack the vaults, you haul off all the junk you can carry, and you rewire all your ill-gotten loot into something new. You go through an artist's entire career, zero in on that one moment that makes you want to jump and dance and smoke bats and bite the heads off drugs. And then you play that one moment over and over. A

The artist and the multitude are natural enemies. They always will be, both ways. The artist is an enemy of the multitude, and the multitude is the enemy of the artist. And when the disguise comes off and they're both standing facing one another, they're just there at odds end.

The mind, as you age, Is an artist, it seems. Monet paints your mem'ries, Picasso your dreams.

The artist uses the talent he has, wishing he had more talent. The talent uses the artist it has, wishing it had more artist.

The first assumption of an art critic is that the artist meant to paint something else.

The artist's talent sits uneasy as an object of public acclaim, having been so long an object of private despair.

Can you love a work of art if the person who produced it was truly awful?

while all of this was going on, a man's face, a slight caricature of the artist as a young voyeur, loomed in a window over the bed and leered down at the two girls. The caption read, "What do they know about love uptown?" That's an old and not very funny joke, and if you don't already know it you're not going to read it here, because it's a bore. But it does fit the circumstances well enough.

Underneath an artist's preoccupations with sex, society, religion, etc. (all the staple abstractions that allow the forebrain to chatter) there is a soul tortured beyond endurance by the lack of tenderness in the world.

With all its imperfections lying heavy on its head, I can't help being attached to it because in the writing of it I first heard the sound of my own voice, lame and halting perhaps, but nevertheless my very own. This is an experience no artist ever forgets —the birth cry of a newly born baby of letters, the genuine article.

If you are born of the artist tribe it is a waste of time to try and function as a priest. You have to be faithful to your angle of vision, and at the same time recognise its partiality. There is a kind of perfection to be achieved in matching oneself to one's capacities at every level. This must, I imagine, do away with strivings, and with illusions too.

Yes, one day I found myself writing down with trembing fingers the four words with which every story-teller since the world began has staked his slender claim to the attention of his fellow-men. Words which presage simply the old story of an artist coming of age. I wrote: 'Once upon a time...

Now there is fame! Of all - hunger, misery, the incomprehension by the public - fame is by far the worst. It is the castigation of God by the artist. It is sad. It is true.

Every science touches art at some points—every art has its scientific side; the worst man of science is he who is never an artist, and the worst artist is he who is never a man of science.

The artist's conception of his art or the scientist's of his science is usually as great as his conception of his own worth is small.

Today the function of the artist is to bring imagination to science and science to imagination, where they meet, in the myth.

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

It's a very new, not to mention vulgar, idea that the spectator's experience should be identical to, or even have anything to do with, the artist's