Artistry Quotes - Page 2

In time, all great masterpieces turn into shameless creatures who laugh at their creators.

Erol Ozan

I can certainly identify with The Villain. A Villain is someone who has a past, who is strongly opinionated, fearless, doesn't get intimated by anything, and went beyond suffering. It's an empowerment figure.

I had artistic classical training, and when you learn the classics for so many years, you might gain audacity, power and confidence to subvert everything. I am like the originals buffoons. I love the rules because I can break them.

Practice form, recognize forms, hone your natural gift, and let everything you experience teach you to never be a comparison. This is how art lasts, by pulling form first from the past.

A red nose is the clown's mask and my moustache is mine.

Pop is about speaking everybody's language. The imagery and iconography we instantly recognize. When you can rely on things that the public already knows, you're dealing with Pop.

All my images are self-portraits, even when I'm not in them.

All art forms possess liberty beyond space and time, yet grounded by urgency of now, and a breath of truth.

Art doesn’t bare itself to just anyone, but to believers called artists.

Richelle E. Goodrich

Art and the artist meet in stages, slowly revealing themselves until both are satisfied with what the other has become.

Richelle E. Goodrich

An artist is merely a tool with which art molds itself.

Richelle E. Goodrich

All portraits reveal both the the painter and the person painted. In many ways all paintings are self-portraits. All part of why art informs.

Marketing is so powerful that it can make even an extremely untalented musician a one-hundred-hits wonder.

Mokokoma Mokhonoana

As Gill says, "every man is called to give love to the work of his hands. Every man is called to be an artist." The small family farm is one of the last places - they are getting rarer every day - where men and women (and girls and boys, too) can answer that call to be an artist, to learn to give love to the work of their hands. It is one of the last places where the maker - and some farmers still do talk about "making the crops" - is responsible, from start to finish, for the thing made. This certainly is a spiritual value, but it is not for that reason an impractical or uneconomic one. In fact, from the exercise of this responsibility, this giving of love to the work of the hands, the farmer, the farm, the consumer, and the nation all stand to gain in the most practical ways: They gain the means of life, the goodness of food, and the longevity and dependability of the sources of food, both natural and cultural. The proper answer to the spiritual calling becomes, in turn, the proper fulfillment of physical need.

If New Orleans is not fully in the mainstream of culture, neither is it fully in the mainstream of time. Lacking a well-defined present, it lives somewhere between its past and its future, as if uncertain whether to advance or to retreat. Perhaps it is its perpetual ambivalence that is its secret charm. Somewhere between Preservation Hall and the Superdome, between voodoo and cybernetics, New Orleans listens eagerly to the seductive promises of the future but keeps at least one foot firmly planted in its history, and in the end, conforms, like an artist, not to the world but to its own inner being--ever mindful of its personal style.

Perhaps the single most enjoyable part of my researches, which covered a period of about four years, was meeting the artists themselves, the people who provide the luxuries. All of them, from tailors and boot makers to truffle hunters and champagne blenders, were happy in their work, generous with their time, and fascinating about their particular skills. To listen to a knowledgeable enthusiast, whether he's talking about a Panama hat or the delicate business of poaching foie gras in Sauternes, is a revelation, and I often came away wondering why the price wasn't higher for the talent and patience involved.

If you ask a twenty-one-year-old poet whose poetry he likes, he might say, unblushing, "Nobody's," In his youth, he has not yet understood that poets like poetry, and novelists like novels; he himself likes only the role, the thought of himself in a hat.

No tricks, no tools, but talent makes a task truly top class.

He was no god, just an artist; and when an artist is a man, he needs a woman to create like a god.