Perfect nonsense goes on in the world. Sometimes there is no plausibility at all
Drawing used to be a civilized thing to do, like reading and writing. It was taught in elementary schools. It was democratic. It was a boon to happiness.
Art is not just about what's great or expensive or scandalous or famous. It's a mirror we hold up that looks different to everyone who sees it, and whose beauty lies as much in us, and our capacity to dream.
It's not that there is no such thing as truth. But we come to like and trust a certain story, not because it's necessarily the most absolutely truthful, but because it's a thing that we tell ourselves that makes sense of the world, at least at this moment.
Out of routine comes inspiration. That's the idea, anyway. To grasp what's exceptional, you first have to know what's routine.
Under ordinary circumstances, bad art naturally gets sorted out and disappears. That is how history works when it is left alone to do its job.
Art, not unlike raising children. . . may entail much sacrifice and periods of despair, but, with luck, the effort will produce something that outlives you.
My grandmother's generation and generations before always saw beyond the horizons of their own lives and their own circumstances. They believed that opportunity created today would lead to prosperity tomorrow.
Someone ought to do it, but why should I? Someone ought to do it, so why not I? Between these two sentences lie whole centuries of moral evolution.
It is magnificent, but it is not war.
The masculinefeminine look fascinates me. It is not only an issue of empowering women, but I think the shapes look great.