An author knows his landscape best; he can stand around, smell the wind, get a feel for his place.
Our deep respect for the land and its harvest is the legacy of generations of farmers who put food on our tables, preserved our landscape, and inspired us with a powerful work ethic.
We are a landscape of all we have seen.
For me, going back to itinerant landscape painting, it's not about returning to an older method, but about building on what happened in the 20th century in photography. And also highlighting what the differences are between a painting and a photograph in picturing space.
Science is my territory, but science fiction is the landscape of my dreams.
As a farmer, man himself became closely attached to the landscape, firmly rooted to the soil that supported him. At times the soil seemed bountiful and kindly and again stubborn and unfriendly, but it was always a challenge to man's cunning.
The landscape of any farm is the owner's portrait of himself.
There are times when the thing we are seeing changes before our very eyes, and if it is a landscape we praise nature, and if it is celestial we invoke God, but if it is a loved one who defects, we excuse ourselves and say we have to be somewhere and are already late for our next appointment. We do not stay to put pennies over the half-dead eyes.
The sigh of History rises over ruins, not over landscapes, and in the Antilles there are few ruins to sigh over, apart from the ruins of sugar estates and abandoned forts.
Maybe black and white is the best medium for landscapes, I don't know.
The social-media landscape changes incredibly fast, so you have to be open-minded and nimble to keep up with it.
The portrait painter. . . If he insults his sitters his occupation is gone. Whether he paints the should instead of the features, or the latter with all its natural blemishes, he is as presumptuous as if he shouted, 'What a face. Hide it. ' which would never do, although it is analogous to what landscape painters are doing every day.
The beauty and wonders of nature are as alluring as the pursuit of Art, and made of me a landscape painter.
It is only in appearance that time is a river. It is rather a vast landscape and it is the eye of the beholder that moves.
Just as storms change the landscape of the earth, our hardships change the landscape of the heart.
There is nothing in which the birds differ more from man than the way in which they can build and yet leave a landscape as it was before.
I am showing my pupils details of an immense landscape which they cannot possibly know their way around.
I wanted to contribute to the landscape tradition in art. By now I guess we are comfortable with the thought that man has been everywhere or affected everything in nature.
I was interested in how we engage the world. How do we use our skin as our eyes? If you read a cityscape or a landscape with just your mind, and not your body, it becomes like a picture or representation, not something you really engage with.
A landscape, torn by mists and clouds, in which I can see ruins of old churches, as well as of Greek temples - that is Brahms.