My home is in Heaven. I'm just traveling through this world.
One must not imitate what one wants to create.
Truth exists; only lies are invented.
To explain away the mystery of a great painting - if such a feat were possible - would do irreparable harm. . . If there is no mystery, then there is no poetry, the quality I value above all else in art.
I couldn't portray a women in all her natural loveliness. . I haven't the skill. No one has. I must, therefore, create a new sort of beauty, the beauty that appears to me in terms of volume of line, of mass, of weight, and through that beauty interpret my subjective impression. Nature is mere a pretext for decorative composition, plus sentiment. It suggests emotion, and I translate that emotion into art. I want to express the absolute, not merely the factitious woman.
There is only one valuable thing in art: the thing you cannot explain.
The painter thinks in terms of form and color. The goal is not to be concerned with the reconstitution of an anecdotal fact, but with constitution of a pictorial fact.
I love astute observations and really great wordplay. I love the way that Louis C. K. observes life, and I love the way Patton Oswalt talks about it.
What do I mean by concentration? I mean focusing totally on the business at hand and commanding your body to do exactly what you want it to do.
I've never been in charge of my stories, they've always been in charge of me. As each new one has called to me, ordering me to give it voice and form and life, I've followed the advice I've shared with other writers over the years: jump off the cliff and build your wings on the way down.
And if they don't believe us, I can give them the ghost eyes, you can go all big and threatening, Farmer can do his cracknob simpleton, and my lady can don her nobleness. We'll do all right.