Quotes About Art

I spent much of my time painting, and portraits of a dozen lost loves adorned the walls of my home; their cold eyes stared down at me with disdain, their lips forever smiling.

In Sector 23, life imitates art.

Sometimes the muse sits on my shoulder, but most often not I have a devil of a job tempting her back!

Every movement, every glance, every low-pitched word is a work of art. Yes, they are performers, too, like me.

Every building sported grinning gargoyles, simpering saints or representations of fantastic beasts.

He's beautiful," she said, an inadequate response in comparison to the strange lurch she felt in her belly. The eyes of the portrait seemed to stare right into her: "He looks sad." "That was painted just before he went to Magrast for the first time. He wasn't happy about leaving home.

Beth and I wondered how they ever managed to find time to express their creativity, and it was true all works of art we saw in these houses were frantic, doom-laden affairs.

There was nothing more to it than that; it was not erotic in any way, but art, purely that; living sculpture, their planes of vital marble catching the light, using it to create new forms.

She drew attenuated figures, wreathed in flowing hair, wearing his face. She drew a naked man, cupping his genitals in his hands, offering them like a sacrifice. That was perhaps her own magic.

He painted beautiful demons that smiled with frightening realism from the canvas; demons that-even though only representations in paint-promised pain and pleasure in equal measure.

Poetry is its own medium it's very different than writing prose. Poetry can talk in an imagistic sense, it has particular ways of catching an environment.

I've already written 300 space poems. But I look upon my ultimate form as being a poetic prose. When you read it, it appears to be prose, but within the prose you have embedded the techniques of poetry.

That's the trouble with science. It has to explain beauty. It can't just let it be.

Though his rivals at the competition were well trained, there was something different about Van's art. For many in the audience it represented the face of freedom. Performing under the auspices of a repressive regime and before an intimidating jury of some of the world's greatest musicians, he seemed to answer to no authority other than the shifting tides of his own soul. The mere act of hearing him became liberating. When

WPC Buchan might not know much about art, but she knew what gave her the fucking willies, and these things took the hairy biscuit.

Susan took a sheet of paper and pinned it to the fridge door amongst all the other kids' pictures: frogs, princesses, unicorns, dragons, and monster trucks. All of which looked as if they'd been done during Picasso's Off His Face period. The new one was some sort of dinosaur/

I must admit that, either from temperament or taste, or from both, I am quite incapable of understanding how any work of art can be criticised from a moral standpoint. The sphere of art and the sphere of ethics are absolutely distinct and separate;

Dylan's Blood on The Tracks.

A man's screech should exceed his rasp, or what's a violin for?

That's what I have told people who have asked for advice through the years: focus on what is beautiful and pursue that beauty.

And most, like me, were drawn to the miracle of the blank page and how, when seeded with letters, it blossomed into words and sentences and paragraphs and stories.

Eminent doctors warned against Munch's Pointillist canvas, Spring Day on Karl Johan, counselling that looking at such pictures brought on spotty conditions such as acne, measles and chicken pox.

Early in this century a group of passionate artists in Russia claimed that the essence of art was to make the familiar seem strange. Perhaps this is also one of the roles of the exotic, to alter and sharpen our perceptions.

Cinema Is Love 24 Times Per Second