Quotes About Painting

I have seen Colonial churches since I was very small, Colonial painting and polychrome sculpture. And that was all I saw. There was not a single modern painting in any museum, not a Picasso, not a Braque, not a Chagall. The museums had Colombian painters from the eighteenth century and, of course, I saw Pre-Columbian art. That was my exposure.

'Le Reve' may be one of the three best pictures Pablo Picasso ever painted.

I doubt Picasso ever painted a picture in an hour, he took his time, looked at every detail and made sure it was perfect.

I ended up living on Crete for eight months. I picked olives and did house painting and got broke.

And, since the model he faithfully copies is not going to be hung up next to the picture, since the picture is going to be there on its own, it is of no interest whether it is an accurate copy of the model.

If the picture needs varnishing later, I allow a restorer to do that, if there's any restoring necessary.

And all of this, all these physical aspects of painting at that time excited me very much. You could do a picture in just black and white. I mean all the things, whether you're soliciting permission or not, do give you permission.

I can paint pictures, but I cannot rule men.

I had tried painting, mostly to give myself a greater appreciation of the craft and to inform how I looked at paintings. That led to collaging some of the work I had done on paper, and I found myself mixing in found pieces as well.

I build a kind of wall between myself and t he model so that I can paint in peace behind it. Otherwise, she might say something that confuses and distracts me.

You don't need to rip open walls to transform a space. One of the big things that count is furniture design and painting - things you can do yourself - that alone can transform the space.

I was always the misfit jock who was with people painting on walls.

I remember one time in my junior year, in my art class, our teacher had us doing, like, finger paints, and I went and put a stripe on a girl's shirt, and it turned into a big paint fight. Paint all over the walls, all over everybody. It was pretty fun.

My paintings are very strange - large and empty, like walls. Just the opposite of my writing, which is rich and juicy.

I have ridiculously bad eyesight, but I have learned to live with an impressionistic view. Life is a Monet painting. I wander around enjoying myopia.

What I wanted to do was to paint sunlight on the side of a house.

I'd been told, or warned, that when you paint one room, not only will it look nice, but it will also make the room next to it look as if raccoons have been living in it for the past decade.

People ask me why I don't paint oils. It takes too long. Cleaning brushes in linseed oil, and it takes six months to really dry, and all this. I don't have that kind of time. I work with acrylic. It's water based. You can clean it under water. If you spill it on yourself, you just throw it in the washing machine.

Nice shirt," Rafe murmured in a low voice as she passed him. Baffled, she glanced down and then could have died from mortification. It was the Sleep with a Librarian shirt that Hope and Faith had given her one Christmas as a joke. She never wore it, of course—it wasn't her style at all—but she'd thrown it on that morning under her sweater, knowing she was going to be painting the scenery later and it would be perfect for the job.

She pointed to another area of the barn where other large pieces of plywood had been painted with snowflakes. "I need to finish just a few things on the scenery, so I'll be on hand if you need help with anything." The best help she could offer would be to stay out of his way. She was entirely too tempting to his peace of mind, but he couldn't figure out a way to say that without sounding like an idiot, so he just decided to focus on the job at hand.

The barn was warmer than he would have expected, especially with the air compressor going to power the tools, and soon he was down to his T-shirt. Before she started painting, she had taken off the sweater she wore, but it wasn't until he took a break and looked up from connecting two boards that he saw the message on it: Wake up Smarter. Sleep With a Librarian.

I had bohemian parents in Seattle in the last '60s living in a houseboat. My dad wrote science fiction novels and painted big murals and oil paintings.

Era un pintor tan viejo que se le habían quedado calvos los pinceles. (He was such an old painter that his brushes had gone bald.)

Anybody out there who is a parent, if your kids want to paint their bedrooms, as a favor to me, let them do it. It'll be OK. Don't worry about resale value on the house.