To any artist, worthy of the name, all in nature is beautiful, because his eyes, fearlessly accepting all exterior truth, read there, as in an open book, all the inner truth.
Auguste RodinRead
Sculpture is the art of the hole and the lump.
Interpretation
Sculpture involves both removing material and shaping it to create art.
Auguste Rodin's quote highlights the duality of sculpture as an art form, where an artist alternates between subtracting material and forming new shapes. It emphasizes the process of revealing beauty from within the block of material, showcasing the interaction of absence and presence in three-dimensional art.
In practice
In a speech at an art gallery, one might say, 'As Rodin stated, sculpture is the art of the hole and the lump, reminding us of the beauty that emerges from the process of creation.'
To any artist, worthy of the name, all in nature is beautiful, because his eyes, fearlessly accepting all exterior truth, read there, as in an open book, all the inner truth.
There is no need to create. Genius comes only to those who know how to use their eyes and their intelligence.
Mystery is like a kind of atmosphere which bathes the greatest works of the masters.
I am like a moon that shines on an immense, unknown sea where ships never pass
An artist worthy of the name should express all the truth of nature, not only the exterior truth, but also, and above all, the inner truth.
The artist enriches the soul of humanity. _x000D_ The artist delights people with _x000D_ a thousand different shades of feeling.
I still encourage anyone who feels at all compelled to write to do so. I just try to warn people who hope to get published that publication is not all it is cracked up to be. But writing is.
I won't get into it any more than to say that there are parts of me in all the songs that I write.
When a documentary filmmaker, working in the style that I do, suggests that there has been a shooting ratio of 40 hours to every one hour of finished film, that doesn't mean that the other 39 are bad.
She didn't even have to smile, and she rarely did outside her house--it was the eyes, her dancer's carriage, the way she seemed to deliberate over the smallest movement of her body.
A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is To meet an antique book In just the dress his century wore; A privilege, I think, His venerable hand to take, And warming in our own, A passage back, or two, to make To times when he was young. His quaint opinions to inspect, His knowledge to unfold On what concerns our mutual mind, The literature of old.
With me every peep becomes a trumpet solo.
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