When you stop doing something, it doesn't mean you are rejecting the previous work. That's the mistake; it's not rejecting it, it's saying, 'I have exploited it enough now and I wish to take a look at another corner.'
David HockneyRead
Drawing takes time. A line has time in it
Interpretation
Creating art is a process that requires patience and attention to detail.
David Hockney's quote emphasizes the importance of the time invested in the act of drawing. It suggests that art is not just about the final product, but about the experience of creationβthe lines we draw represent not only a physical mark on paper but also the time and thought that went into each stroke, highlighting the journey of artistic expression.
In practice
In a speech about pursuing artistic endeavors, one might say, 'Remember, drawing takes time; a line has time in it.'
When you stop doing something, it doesn't mean you are rejecting the previous work. That's the mistake; it's not rejecting it, it's saying, 'I have exploited it enough now and I wish to take a look at another corner.'
I'm interested in all kinds of pictures, however they are made, with cameras, with paint brushes, with computers, with anything.
I've always wanted to be able to paint the dawn.
My only worry is the painting I'm doing. Nothing else.
In fact, most artists want to make things a bit more difficult for themselves as they go along, to challenge themselves.
I can get excitement watching rain on a puddle. And then I paint it. Now, I admit, there are not too many people who would find that exciting. But I would. And I want life thrilling and rich. And it is. I make sure it is.
While we cannot describe its appearance (the equivalent), we can define its function. When a photograph functions as an Equivalent we can say that at that moment, and for that person the photograph acts as a symbol or plays the role of a metaphor for something that is beyond the subject photographed.
If you know exactly what you're going to do, what's the good in doing _x000D_ it?
A picture is a poem without words
The unwelcome November rain had perversely stolen the day's last hour and pawned it with that ancient fence, the night.
Poetry is indispensable - if I only knew what for.
Happy is the novelist who manages to preserve an actual love letter that he received when he was young within a work of fiction, embedded in it like a clean bullet in flabby flesh and quite secure there, among spurious lives.
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