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martes, 9 de agosto de 2011

is all art useless?


The artist is the creator of beautiful things.
To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim.
The critic is he who can translate into another manner
or a new material his impression of beautiful things.
The highest, as the lowest, form of criticism is a mode
of autobiography.
Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt
without being charming. This is a fault.
Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things
are the cultivated. For these there is hope.
They are the elect to whom beautiful things means only
Beauty.
There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book.
Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.
The nineteenth century dislike of Realism is the rage of
Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.
The nineteenth century dislike of Romanticism is the
rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.
The moral life of man forms part of the subject-matter of
the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect
use of an imperfect medium. No artist desires to prove
anything. Even things that are true can be proved.
No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy
in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.
No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express
everything.
Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art.
Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art.
From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is
the art of the musician. From the point of view of feeling,
the actor's craft is the type.
All art is at once surface and symbol.
Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.
Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.
It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.
Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work
is new, complex, and vital.
When critics disagree the artist is in accord with
himself.
We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he
does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless
thing is that one admires it intensely.
All art is quite useless.

Oscar Wilde.-

domingo, 16 de marzo de 2008

Cuando saber si eres un artista



Tu ego oscila constantemente entre ”Esto es impresionante, soy un p*** genio” y “todo lo que toco se convierte en mierda, soy un fraude”.

Tu mejor dibujo nunca es lo suficientemente bueno.

Cuando hablas con alguien, observas sus rasgos para analizar como lo dibujarías y que líneas serian superfluas.

Disfrutas mirando a gente fea pero interesante tanto o más que cuando observas a alguien atractivo.

Has dibujado a gente desnuda tantas veces que es posible concentrarte en obtener un buen dibujo e imaginar tener sexo con ellas al mismo tiempo.

Intentas buscas trazos de pincel en cosas reales.

Cuando te pones cachondo con algo que has dibujado tu.

Cuando miras al cielo y ves nubes con formas y colores impresionantes y piensas "eso no puede ser ocasional esta hecho en photoshop".

Te gastas un pastón en material de dibujo que no necesitas.

Cuando vas al trabajo escuchando música, piensas "si llevara una videocámara podría hacer un videoclip de la ostia".

Cuando tienes dos carpetas llenas de porno en tu ordenador… para usar de referencia (bueno, creo que cada hombre tiene eso en su ordenador).

Coleccionas sketchbooks aunque no hayas completado los que ya tenias.

Observando un amanecer/atardecer intentas contar la cantidad de tonos Pantone que se han usado.

Gastas todo el tiempo en el que no estas dibujando en pensar
“Debería estar dibujando".

Y mil más…