Quotes About Expression

Art can sometimes be separate from the artist.

As a brown artist, I have mixed feelings about my relationship to art and my "responsibilities" post-Trump.

I have always considered the aesthetic of a project, including press photos, as a means to further the message of the art itself.

Poetry is the only art people haven't learned to consume like soup.

Art should be appreciated with passion and violence, not with a tepid, depreciating elegance that fears the censoriousness of a common room.

The arts are the best insurance policy a city can take on itself.

If art depended on content, then one painting of an apple would be as good as the next one.

Don't burden art with words and ideas. Art comes from a deeper place.

Anything is OK in art if the art turns out OK.

It matters little if something is 'craft' or 'art.' The question is only this: does it give me pleasure?

There are too many artists, too many dealers and too much art.

Art that wants to be felt does not have the need to be admired.

People don't buy lady art.

I think some of the musicians are more like punk rock musicians. It's like an art as opposed to being a musician. It's definitely more radical psychedelic bands, more than anything.

Being surrounded by artistic and musical beauty soothes the soul, bringing both quiet calm and creative inspiration. . . .

By translating their inner turmoil or understanding into art, artists challenge the accepted notions of reality and create new ones.

As far as I can see, the history of experimental art in the twentieth century is intimately bound up with the experience of intoxification.

What has reason to do with the art of painting?

Art bids us touch and taste and hear and see the world, and shrinks from what Blake calls mathematic form, from every abstract form, from all that is of the brain only.

How can the arts overcome the slow dying of men's hearts that we call progress ?

The art of poetry is to touch the passions, and its duty to lead them on the side of virtue.

Made poetry a mere mechanic art.

Forgot the blush that virgin fears impart To modest cheeks, and borrowed one from art.

Why art thou but a nest of gloom While the bobolinks are singing?