Quotes About Sculpture

Maybe the moral of the legend is that we are all carved, created, and formed by a master hand. Maybe we are all works of art.

It could be that people want to consume sculpture the way they consume paintings - through photographs... I'm interested in the experience of sculpture in the place where it resides.

Body experience... is the centre of creation.

Well, I never studied design and I went to art school to study art, you know, sculpture and things like that, and ended up making things like sculpture and started making chairs and jewelry together and that's how I started.

the lake a perfect mirror reflecting the sky and mountains with their stars and trees and wonderful sculpture, all their grandeur refined and doubled,—a marvelously impressive picture, that seemed to belong more to heaven than earth.

When Socrates was about 30, and his father was long dead, he was still pursuing the art of sculpture, but from necessity, and without much inclination.

In every block of marble I see a statue as plain as though it stood before me, shaped and perfect in attitude and action. I have only to hew away the rough walls that imprison the lovely apparition to reveal it to the other eyes as mine see it.

Food is exacting. The face is truly a canvas upon which our food choices paint an accurate picture. The body is truly a sculpture, chiseled and polished by our food choices.

When the Picasso sculpture was installed in Chicago's Daley Plaza in 1967, then-Ald. John Hoellen (47th) called on the city to "deport" the artwork to France and replace it with a statue of Cubs slugger Ernie Banks.

The human body is the best work of art.

In my sculpture, it's not an image I am seeking, it's not an idea. My goal is to re-live a past emotion. My art is an exorcism, and beauty is something I never talk about.

There's only one woman I know of who could never be a symphony conductor, and that's the Venus de Milo.

His sonnet no. 152 uses the metaphor of sculpture for salvation: 'By what we take away, lady, we give to a rugged mountain stone/A figure that can live? And which grows greater when the stone grows less.' Here was the fascination with sculpture as an act of discovery within a piece of marble: by chipping away, the figure was slowly revealed.

But Michelangelo did not want us to know how he learned to sculpt and, whatever the truth of the matter, he succeeded in suppressing it. The impression he wanted to pass down was that he just picked up the art of sculpture through sheer brilliance and inherent understanding of design; conceivably, that might even be correct.

At a certain point, I just put the building and the art impulse together. I decided that building was a legitimate way to make sculpture.

Mount Rushmore, which old John Fire always called the "Giant Tourist Curio Ashtray.

I created an icicle sculpture in the snow. White on white.

Some paintings were no more than a single perfect brushstroke that conjured a simple yet breathtaking fish or stalk of bamnoo. Clay sculptures in various states of completion lined shelves at the far end of the gallery.

If the sculptor uses stone and if the road builder also uses stone, the first uses it in a way that it is not used, consumed, negated by usage, but affirmed, revealed in its obscurity, as a road that leads only to itself.

My dad was dean of fine arts at the university. I was casting bronzes in the school foundry. I was using the university as a playground.

Man is a marble piece; unlike Michelangelo's masterpieces, man is unconsciously carved and imperfectly shaped by the nature

The secret angels of God are only as alive as the marble angels of Michelangelo!

Like many faeries she knew, he was sculpture-perfect, but instead of being wrought of shadows like those in her court, this faery had a tangled feel to him. Shadow and radiance. He didn't look much older than her, until she saw the arrogance in his posture. Then, he reminded her of Irial, of Bananach, of Keenan, of the faeries who walked through courts and crowds confident that they could slaughter everyone in the room. Like chaos in a glass cage.

When Bruno came back with a thick folder in his hand, Paul was standing in the small parlor, busy examining an animal sculpture standing on a windowsill. The animal, whose musculature was minutely reproduced, head turned back. It seemed worried, maybe it had heard something behind it, sensed the presence of a predator. It must be a goat, or maybe a deer or a hind, he didn't know much about animals.