#color

I think 'tradition' is in the past - and how can someone really 'fear' a color? A man may prefer navy to turquoise, but a self assured man could wear any color and he knows that. It's a distinction of confidence. ↗

— Jean Pigozzi

#assured #color #confidence #could #distinction

The colors live a remarkable life of their own after they have been applied to the canvas. ↗

— Edvard Munch

#applied #been #canvas #colors #life

The colored man is in the South to stay there. He will not leave it voluntarily and he cannot be driven out. He had no voice in being carried into the South, but he will have a very loud voice in any attempt to put him out. ↗

— Timothy Thomas Fortune

#attempt #being #cannot #carried #colored

Sunrise paints the sky with pinks and the sunset with peaches. Cool to warm. So is the progression from childhood to old age. ↗

— Vera Nazarian

#aging #color #growth #old-age #peach

My favorite color on canvas is nudity.

 ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#canvas #color #naughty #nude #nudity

Grey has no agenda. . . . Grey has the ability, that no other colour has, to make the invisible visible. ↗

— Roma Tearne

#color #perception #art

All colors are the friends of their neighbors and the lovers of their opposites. ↗

— Marc Chagall

#friends #lovers #neighbors #opposites #their

The other day, when I was deciding where to place a mountain range, how to make a river's flow detour around underground stalactite caves, and what precise color to give the sky at sunset, I realized I was God... or an artist and a writer. ↗

— Vera Nazarian

#artist #color #create #creating #creation

How do you know, when you think blue — when you say blue — that you are talking about the same blue as anyone else? You cannot get a grip on blue. Blue is the sky, the sea, a god’s eye, a devil’s tail, a birth, a strangulation, a virgin’s cloak, a monkey’s ass. It’s a butterfly, a bird, a spicy joke, the saddest song, the brightest day. Blue is sly, slick, it slides into the room sideways, a slippery trickster. This is a story about the color blue, and like blue, there’s nothing true about it. Blue is beauty, not truth. ‘True blue’ is a ruse, a rhyme; it’s there, then it’s not. Blue is a deeply sneaky color. ↗

— Christopher Moore

#color #art

Her eyes were of different colors, the left as brown as autumn, the right as gray as Atlantic wind. Both seemed alive with questions that would never be voiced, as if no words yet existed with which to frame them. She was nineteen years old, or thereabouts; her exact age was unknown. Her face was as fresh as an apple and as delicate as blossom, but a marked depression in the bones beneath her left eye gave her features a disturbing asymmetry. Her mouth never curved into a smile. God, it seemed, had withheld that possibility, as surely as from a blind man the power of sight. He had withheld much else. Amparo was touched—by genius, by madness, by the Devil, or by a conspiracy of all these and more. She took no sacraments and appeared incapable of prayer. She had a horror of clocks and mirrors. By her own account she spoke with Angels and could hear the thoughts of animals and trees. She was passionately kind to all living things. She was a beam of starlight trapped in flesh and awaiting only the moment when it would continue on its journey into forever.” (p.33) ↗

— Tim Willocks

#apple #asymmetry #atlantic #autumn #blind-man