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Pearls from artists* # 387

Barbara at work on “Schemer,” Soft Pastel on Sandpaper, 26” x 20”

Barbara at work on “Schemer,” Soft Pastel on Sandpaper, 26” x 20”

* an ongoing series of quotations – mostly from artists, to artists – that offers wisdom, inspiration, and advice for the sometimes lonely road we are on.

You know, you don’t go into the studio and say, “Oh, here I am this marvelous heroine, this wonderful woman doing my marvelous painting so all these marvelous women artists can come after me and do their marvelous painting.”  There you are alone in this huge space and you are not conscious of the fact that you have breasts and a vagina.  You are inside yourself, looking at a damned piece of rag on the wall that you are supposed to make a world out of.  That is all you are conscious of.  I simply cannot believe that a man feels differently… Inside yourself, you are looking at this terrifying unknown and trying to feel, to pull everything you can out of all your experience, to make something.  I think a woman or a man creating feels very much the same way.  I bring my experience, which is different from a man’s, yes, and I put it where I can.  But once that is done, I don’t know if it is a woman’s experience I’m looking at.

Grace Hartigan quoted in Ninth Street Women by Mary Gabriel

Comments are welcome!

Pearls from artists* # 26

Borobudur, Java

Borobudur, Java

* an ongoing series of quotations – mostly from artists, to artists – that offers wisdom, inspiration, and advice for the sometimes lonely road we are on.

Beauty is made up of relationships.  It derives its prestige from a specific metaphysical truth, expressed through a host of balances, imbalances, waverings, surges, halts, meanderings, and straight lines, the peculiar quality of which, as a whole, add up to a marvelous number, apparently born without pain.  Its distinguishing mark is that it judges those who judge it, or imagine that they possess power to do so.  Critics have no hold over it.  They would have to know the minutest details of how it works, and this they cannot do, because the mechanics of beauty are secret.  Hence the soil of an age is strewn with a litter of cogs that criticism dismantles in the same way as Charlie Chaplin dismantles an alarm clock after opening it like a tin can.  Criticism dismantles the cogs.  Unable to put them back together or understand the relationships that give them life, it discards them and goes on to something else.  And beauty ticks on.  Critics cannot hear it because the roar of current events clogs the ears of their souls.

Jean Cocteau in Andre Bernard and Claude Gauteur, editors, Jean Cocteau:  The Art of Cinema

Comments are welcome!

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