The nature of peoples is first crude, then severe, then benign, then delicate, finally dissolute.
The virtue of pride, which was once the beauty of mankind, has given place to that fount of ugliness, Christian humility.
Every normal human being (and not merely the 'artist') has an inexhaustible store of buried images in his subconscious, it is merely a matter of courage or liberating procedures. . . of voyages into the unconscious, to bring pure and unadulterated found objects to light.
Collage is the noble conquest of the irrational, the coupling of two realities, irreconcilable in appearance, upon a plane which apparently does not suit them.
Creativity is that marvelous capacity to grasp mutually distinct realities and draw a spark from their juxtaposition.
Painting is neither decorative amusement, nor the plastic invention of felt reality; it must be every time: invention, discovery, revelation.
When the artist finds himself he is lost. The fact that he has succeeded in never finding himself is regarded by Max Ernst as his only lasting achievement.
Phury knelt beside him and stroked his face. "I've only ever had you to live for. If you die I have nothing. I'm utterly lost. And you are needed here. " Zsadist tried to reach out, but couldn't lift his arms as Phury stood up. "God, Z, I keep thinking this tragedy of ours is going to be over. But it just keeps going, doesn't it?" Zsadist blacked out to the sound of his twin's boots heading from the room.
In this new era of social media the rules of the road have changed significantly, yet the basic yearning for true connectivity and love have not.
The door swung open and Kate walked in. Her jeans and T-shirt were splattered with blood and she was carrying a severed vampire head. The T-shirt has a smiley face on it.
I'd heard August say more than once, "If you need something from somebody, always give that person a way to hand it to you. " T. Ray needed a face-saving way to hand me over, and August was giving it to him.