We read books. They make us think. It matters very little whether we agree with the books or not.
In every human being there is the artist, and whatever his activity, he has an equal chance with any to express the result of his growth and his contact with life. I don’t believe any real artist cares whether what he does is ‘art’ or not. Who, after all, knows what art is?
Art need not be intended. It comes inevitably as the tree from the root, the branch from the trunk, the blossom from the twig. None of these forget the present in looking backward or forward. They are occupied wholly with the fulfillment of their own existence.
Your only hope of satisfying others is in satisfying yourself. I speak of a great satisfaction, not a commercial satisfaction.
The more simply you see, the more simply you will render. People see too much, scatteringly.
Those who cannot begin do not finish.
Whatever you feel or think your exact state at the exact moment of your brush touching the canvas is in some way registered in that stroke.
Art cannot be separated from life. It is the expression of the greatest need of which life is capable, and we value art not because of the skilled product, but because of its revelation of a life’s experience.
There is only one reason for art in America, and that is that the people of America learn the means of expressing themselves in their own time, and their own land.
The artist should be intoxicated with the idea of the thing he wants to express.
There are moments in our lives, there are moments in a day, when we seem to see beyond the usual- become clairvoyant. We reach then into reality. Such are the moments of our greatest happiness. Such are the moments of our greatest wisdom. It is in the nature of all people to have these experiences; but in our time and under the conditions of our lives, it is only a rare few who are able to continue in the experience and find expression for it.
Water runs down hill concisely. There is no quibbling about it. It does not have to run up hill in order to be entertaining. Man has always followed its course with fascination. The soul of man may reveal its mysteries through direct expression, simple speech, simple gesture, simple painting, just as the soul of the brook is expressed in full simplicity and economy.
There is always a commanding and simple line around each head. Learn to have a love for the big simple line.
There are men who, at the bottom of the ladder, battle to rise; they study, struggle, keep their wits alive and eventually get up to a place where they are received as an equal among respectable intellectuals. Here they find warmth and comfort for their pride, and here the struggle ends, and a death of many years commences. They could have gone on living.
The undercurrent and motive of all art is an individual man’s idea. From each we expect what he has to give. We desire it. It is absolutely necessary for him to give it out.
Sometimes we do grip the concert in a human head, and so hold it that in a way we get a record of it into paint, but the vision and expressing of one day will not do for the next.
The brain can be a wonderful tool, can be a willing slave, as has been evidenced by some men, but of course it works poorly when it has not the habit of usage. An automobile can become a source of delight, but the first time you drive you are as apt to go up a tree as to go up the road.
It is a curious fact that the delicate acoustic arrangements of a music hall can be impaired by the music of inefficient, discordant orchestras, and for this reason poor musical performances have been forbidden in some places. If a poor performance could affect adversely the acoustics of a hall, would not an able performance tend to improve them?
Each man must seek for himself the people who hold the essential beauty, and each man must eventually say to himself as I do, ’these are my people and all that I have I owe to them.
The object of painting a picture is-however unreasonable that may sound... The object which is back of every true work of art, is the attainment of state of being, a state of high functioning, a more than ordinary moment of existence. The picture is but a by-product of the state, a trace, the footprint of that state.