#tis

Artists who seek perfection in everything are those who cannot attain it in anything. ↗

— Gustave Flaubert

#anything #artists #attain #cannot #everything

To create art with all the passion in one's soul is to live art with all the beauty in one's heart. ↗

— Aberjhani

#artists #beauty #creativity #national-poetry-month #poem-in-your-pocket-day

Artists are the serfs of a leisure society. ↗

— Bauvard

#funny #humor #funny

What do you think an artist is? An imbecile who only has eyes, if he is a painter, or ears if he is a musician, or a lyre in every chamber of his heart if he is a poet, or even, if he is a boxer, just his muscles? Far from it: at the same time he is also a political being, constantly aware of the heartbreaking, passionate, or delightful things that happen in the world, shaping himself completely in their image. How could it be possible to feel no interest in other people, and with a cool indifference to detach yourself from the very life which they bring to you so abundantly? No, painting is not done to decorate apartments. It is an instrument of war. ↗

— Pablo Picasso

#artistic #pablo-picasso #picasso #art

Tattooing, when understood in its entirety, must be seen as a religious act. The human being brings forth images from the center of the self and communicates them to the world. Fantasy is embodied in reality and the person is made whole. ↗

— Spider Webb

#artists #body-art #tattoo #tattoo-artist #art

Visiting the past is something like visiting a foreign country: they do some things the same and some things differently, but above all else, they make us more aware of what we call 'home. ↗

— John Arnold

#dangerous-games #home

Patriotism Breathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, 'This is my own, my native land!' Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd As home his footsteps he hath turn'd From wandering on a foreign strand? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung. ↗

— Walter Scott

#patriotism #home

The art does not always mimic the artist. You never know the real person until you slide beneath their surface ↗

— Lisa Renee Jones

#artist #art

For really it was the refinement of civilized cruelty, this spick, span, and ingenious affair of shining leather and gleaming steel, which hoisted you and tilted you and fitted reassuringly into the small of your back and cupped your head tenderly between padded cushions. It ensured for you a more complete muscular relaxation than any armchair that you could buy for your own home: but it left your tormented nerves without even the solace of a counter-irritant. In the old days the victim's attention had at least been distracted by an ache in the back, a crick in the neck, pins and needles in the legs, and the uneasy tickling of plush under the palm. But now, too efficiently suspended between heaven and earth, you were at liberty to concentrate on hell. ↗

— Jan Struther

#pain #teeth #home

An artist should create beautiful things, but should put nothing of his own life into them. ↗

— Oscar Wilde

#artists #art