Quotes About Art

All For a Day" All day I have written words: My subject has been that. Words. And I am wrong. And the words. I burn Three pages of them. Words. And the moon, moonlight, that too I burn. —A poem remains. But in the words, in the words In the fire that is now words. I eat the words that remain. And am eaten. By nothing, By all that I have not made.

One of my art teachers used to say that the frame is as important as the picture. In persuasion, it can be even more important-the triumph of form over content.

The human brain is wired to see relationships, not detached elements. The artist Heinz Kusel, who taught color theory for twenty years, explained: "Color by itself doesn't exist. All that we see as color is created by relationships-what the color is next to, what surrounds it. A name for a color is absurd, because its appearance is constantly changing as a result of its environment. There are no fixed colors. In a different context it's changed completely."2

days.Behind the bar was a painting of a reclining naked woman. Over time, several would-be marksmen had tried to augment the painting by putting bullet holes in strategic places. Most had missed.

Perfection can be overdone; a rift in a lute relieves melodious monotony, and when discords cease to amuse, one can always have the instrument mended or buy a banjo.

Robert W. Chambers

Write verse, not poetry. The public wants verse. If you have a talent for poetry, then don't by any means mother it, but try your hand at verse.

One of the great challenges in healthcare technology is that medicine is at once an enormous business and an exquisitely human endeavor; it requires the ruthless efficiency of the modern manufacturing plant and the gentle hand-holding of the parish priest; it is about science, but also about art; it is eminently quantifiable and yet stubbornly not.

As Stravinsky says, art is nothing more than placing limits and working against them rigorously … and if we refuse to place them … you do not have art, you have chaos, and to a large extent that's what we've had.

Wallace Laboratories hired Salvador Dalí to help stoke Miltown fever, paying the great artist $35,000 to create an exhibit at an AMA convention that was meant to capture the magic of this new drug.

But life doesn't always imitate art.

The idea is that human culture as broadly defined--art, politics, technology, religion, and so on--evolves in much the way biological species evolve: new cultural traits arise and may flourish or perish, and as a result whole institutions can belief systems form and change.

Bloom relates the story of Nazi war criminal Hermann Goering learning that a painting he owned, which he'd thought was a genuine Vermeer, was in fact a forgery. At that moment, according to one observer, Goering looked "as if for the first time he [had] discovered there was evil in the world.

Getting married is easy. Staying married is more difficult. Staying happily married for a lifetime should rank among the fine arts.

elegiremos un término medio entre Krisnamurti y Rodolfo Valentino... pero más místico, una criatura que tenga un rostro extraño simbolizando el sufrimiento del mundo.

My duty is to try to reach beauty. Cinema is emotion. When you laugh you cry.

Hay momentos para recitar poesías y hay momentos para boxear.

Jesus is the masterpiece. The thieves are minor works. Why are they there? Not to frame the crucifixion, as some innocent souls believe, but to hide it.

Hay momentos para recitar poesías y hay momentos para boxear».

No creo en la literatura como dietario, como diario de vida, como crónica personal; yo creo en la literatura como literatura, como un mecanismo, como una máquina autosuficiente, al menos con una autosuficiencia grande.

God and chance belonged to art, eternity and labyrinths to science.

Everything is a burned book, my dear maestro. Music, the tenth dimension, the fourth dimension, cradles, the production of bullets and rifles, Westerns: all burned books.

I remember that a couple, both tall and thin, turned away from a painting and peered over as if I might be an ex-lover or a living (and unfinished) painting that had just got news of the painter's death. I know I walked out without looking back and that I walked for a long time until I realized I wasn't crying, but that it was raining and I was soaked. That night I didn't sleep at all.

Artaud decía que escribir era una marranada, que todos los escritores eran unos cerdos, sobre todo los de ahora. Lo suscribo. Sin embargo, pese a todo, continúo admirando a los jóvenes escritores. De la misma forma que admiro a los jóvenes boxeadores