Art is, for me, the process of trying to wake up the soul. Because we live in an industrialized, fast-paced world that prefers that the soul remain asleep.
Bill ViolaRead
You are just as qualified as any expert to make a judgment and have a feeling or a response to any work of art.
Interpretation
Everyone's interpretation of art is valid, regardless of their expertise.
This quote emphasizes that art is subjective and personal. It asserts that every individual's feelings, judgments, and responses to art hold value, irrespective of their level of expertise or qualifications in the field of art, thus encouraging everyone to engage with and express their opinions on artistic works.
In practice
In a gallery talk, to encourage visitors to share their personal thoughts about the exhibitions.
Art is, for me, the process of trying to wake up the soul. Because we live in an industrialized, fast-paced world that prefers that the soul remain asleep.
A lot of what making art is, is just being open, and empty. And putting yourself in the right place for things to, literally, come together.
Art has always had as its test in the long term the ability to speak to our innermost selves.
The fundamental aspect of video is not the image, even though you can stand in amazement at what can be done electronically, how images can be manipulated and the really extraordinary creative possibilities. For me the essential basis of video is the movement - something that exists at the moment and changes in the next moment.
While I drew, and wept along with the terrified children I was drawing, I really felt the burden I am bearing. I felt that I have no right to withdraw from the responsibility of being an advocate.
I don't know why so many artists talk about the mainstream's problems from the fringe. I think, unfortunately, it's almost like our education makes us too safe and terrified to step into the world.
Silver and ermine and red faces full of port wine.
Art is History's nostalgia, it prefers a thatched roof to a concrete factory, and the huge church above a bleached village.
Squeeze your eyes closed, as tight as you can, and think of all your favorite autumns, crisp and perfect, all bound up together like a stack of cards. That is what it is like, the awful, wonderful brightness of Fairy colors. Try to smell the hard, pale wood sending up sharp, green smoke into the afternoon. To feel the mellow, golden sun on your skin, more gentle and cozier and more golden than even the light of your favorite reading nook at the close of the day.
Life has been your art. You have set yourself to music. Your days are your sonnets.
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