Friday, September 4, 2015

Intimate Encounters





Intimate Encounters

By Tom Wachunas
 

    “All art constantly aspires towards the condition of music.” –English critic Walter Pater, 1873
 

    EXHIBITS: Recent paintings by Marti Jones Dixon at Journey Art Gallery, 431 4th Street (downtown Canton) THROUGH SEPT. 30; ALSO, Scenes From Hitchcock, at Julz by Alan Rodriguez, 220 Market Ave. N (downtown Canton), THROUGH OCT. 31


    At one point during my drive home from Journey Art Gallery after viewing these recent oil paintings by Marti Jones Dixon, the lovely Barcarolle from Offenbach’s opera, “Tales of Hoffman,” came on the radio. It was one of those uncanny moments when music absolutely clarified and magnified a visual encounter.
    Barcarolles were originally musical expressions based on the lilting, slow rhythms of folk melodies sung by Venetian gondoliers. And suddenly a picture coalesced in my mind of Marti Dixon gently – but oh so purposefully - laying down paint on a canvas, as if rowing through a scene, stroke by stroke.
    The images themselves can best be described as contemporary “genre art” – scenes of everyday life. [Note: the exhibit at Julz, which I’m not reviewing in this post, features scenes from Alfred Hitchcock films wherein Hitchcock inserted himself.] But this isn’t to denigrate them as being commonplace or unremarkable.  For that, all we need do is surf digital social media to look at myriad manifestations of photographic mediocrity.
   So yes, Dixon’s oil paintings are derived from photos, and their small scale enhances their casual, snapshot immediacy. Viewing them isn’t too unlike browsing through the artist’s personal photo album, or someone’s Facebook page. After that, though, what separates them from being ordinary depictions of the familiar is Dixon’s consummate skill in constructing, or orchestrating various elements that transform them into elegantly painted realities – parallel to observable reality, yet separate and unique.
    Here is an intimate world, true to itself. Dixon models her figures and objects not with the illusionistic drama of chiaroscuro, or by dazzling us with hyper-realist linear details, but with planes of color subtly modulated with distinct brush marks. The gestural confidence and fluidity of those markings at times recalls a Cezannesque expressivity, though perhaps not quite so muscular in nature. Paired with her translation of diffused light, which we might call warm or optimistic, most of these scenes are imbued with a tangible quietude and serenity.
   Meanwhile, there’s just the right touch of narrative and compositional mystique in some of them. We don’t directly know the people depicted, yet somehow feel invited to eavesdrop, or enter the space they occupy.  Bally Maloe House is a fascinating, unified fusion of rectilinear and curvilinear pictorial space. While the central room in the image recedes inward to another room’s doorway, its light-colored ceiling seems to flare outward and forward on the top left edge of the painting to a darkened, arched point, playfully directing our attention to both the staircase leading up, and outward, beyond the picture plane. What room might we encounter then? Could it be the lovely chamber where the man and woman are seated at the table in Tea? 
  Dixon’s relaxed technique allows each brush stroke, each individually described shape, to have a character all its own - like a musician’s solo passages beautifully integrated with the structured, lyrical rhythms of the full orchestra. Shhh. Can you hear the harmonies?

    PHOTOS (from top):  Edie Coming In; Bally Maloe House; Tea; Green Room

Monday, August 24, 2015

This Holiday's No Picnic




This Holiday’s No Picnic

By Tom Wachunas

     Seat Of The Pants Productions and The Plain Local Community Center For The Arts present Picnic, by William Inge, in the Black Box Theatre, located in Glen Oak High School, 1801 Schneider St. NE, Canton, Ohio / August 28- 30/ Friday and Saturday at 8 p.m., Sunday afternoon at 2 / Tickets are $16 for adults and $12 for students, and can be purchased at www.translationsart.com/picnic

    A recurring sound in this production of William Inge’s 1953 Pulitzer Prize-winning play, Picnic, is that of the plaintive whistle from a passing train. Signaling both a place left behind and a future destination, the sound becomes a role unto itself - a haunted harbinger of jarring changes that transpire in a Kansas small town neighborhood preparing for a picnic (which, ironically enough, we never actually see) on a sweltering Labor Day.
   Once again, director Craig Joseph (with several notable past Canton Players Guild productions to his credit) shows his remarkable acuity for drawing out compelling realism from his cast members. They truly own their roles, imbuing Inge’s language - which on paper can sometimes seem hoakey and histrionic – with visceral authenticity. Additionally, The Black Box Theatre is made all the more intimate by Micah Harvey’s artful set that cuts across the floor so that we in the audience, viewing it from two sides, feel like neighbors peering into the shared back yard where most of the story unfolds.
   Justin Edenhoffer plays Hal, a scruffy, college-dropout drifter who rolls into town like a Kansas twister. For all of his bad-boy strutting and shirtless posing, he’s complicated and essentially an egomaniac with an inferiority complex. Mr. Edenhoffer embodies Hal’s lithe sexuality and swagger with masterful agility even as he realizes his shortcomings. He’s hired by the amiable Helen, who is apt to see the best in anyone - and played here with a spirit of wisdom and endearing tenderness by Kathy J. Boyd - to do handy work around her house where she cares for her (unseen) ailing mother. Living next door are her neighbors, single-mom Flo (April Deming), her two daughters,  18 year-old Madge (Anna Gallucci) and younger sister Millie (Natalie Welch), and a school teacher tenant, Rosemary (Jacki Dietz).   
   Anna Gallucci’s Madge - the proverbial prettiest girl in town - is an arresting portrait of melancholy and vulnerability as she negotiates an identity crisis. When Flo complains that Madge spends too much time in front of the mirror, Madge replies that it’s only because she wonders if she even exists beyond the physical beauty that everyone else is so crazy about. When she hears that lonely train whistle, she imagines journeying to a place freed from the constricting conventions of life in rural Kansas, and finally liberated from her mother’s agenda for her to marry the sophisticated, clean-cut and monied Alan (Tim Carmany), Hal’s former fraternity brother.  She’s perfectly positioned to fall for Hal’s “dangerous” charms, if only because he (of all people!) sees her not as a pretty doll to be coveted and claimed, but a real person to be cherished.
    As the doting mother Flo, April Deming effectively exudes quiet desperation and pensive urgency, eager for Madge to marry into a life she herself couldn’t acquire. Meanwhile, Natalie Welch nails the role of the scholarly tomboy Millie, resentful over all the attentions paid to her older sister, with an infectious, animated mix of sass and woundedness.
    Some delightful moments of comic relief are provided by Jacki Dietz, playing Rosemary, along with Angeleina Valentine and Jeannie Clarkson, who play Irma and Christine respectively, Rosemary’s chatty teacher compatriots. Dietz is also central in some of the play’s most emotionally volatile scenes. In one, fueled by a few swigs of bootleg whiskey, she unleashes an explosive verbal assault on Hal - a no-holds-barred condemnation of everything she finds objectionable about him. Later, she surrenders her dignity in a pathetic plea for marriage to her reluctant suitor, Howard (Andrew Knode), a plainspoken if not clueless store owner. Particularly memorable there is Knode’s demeanor of numbed acquiescence in the face of Dietz’s euphoria.  
In his role of Alan, Tim Carmany renders a convincing transformation – from an initially genuine enthusiasm at his reunion with Hal, through growing irritation at Hal’s bravado, and ultimately into devastating heartbreak over Hal’s inevitable seduction of Madge.

    Indeed, the operative energy in this story is inevitability. In the end, you get the sense that even for young Millie, earlier teased and harassed by the gadfly paperboy named Bomber (Kyle Burnett), romance waits somewhere in the wings.
Picnic isn’t just a dated snapshot of 1950s Midwestern life tinged with despondency and sexual repression. Alternately poignant and searing, it is a timeless reminder that in any quest for real personhood, the only certainty is change itself. Dreams can be born and broken with all the regularity of a train running right on time.

    PHOTOS by Jeremy Aronhalt, from top: (1) left to right, Kathy J. Boyd, Natalie Welch, April Deming, Justin Edenhofer (center), Tim Carmany, Anna Gallucci; (2) Anna Gallucci (left), April Dening; (3) Natalie Welch (with cake), April Dening (seated), Kathy J. Boyd

Saturday, August 15, 2015

Oh Gaud






Oh Gaud

By Tom Wachunas
 

    From Webster’s New Universal Unabridged Dictionary:
    Gaud, n.
1.   a worthless or trifling ornament; a trinket; a bauble

2.   [pl.] showy gaieties

3.   a jest; trick; sport; fraud [Obs.]
 

    “I’m afraid that if you look at a thing long enough, it loses all of its meaning.”  -Andy Warhol 

    EXHIBIT: Oxytocin – works by Maxim Rossett at BLISS Gallery, 334 4th Street NW, downtown Canton, THROUGH SEPTEMBER, Tuesdays-Fridays Noon-4 p.m.

    First, a caveat about reasonable art gallery protocol. At the time I closely viewed this exhibit, it was several days after the artist reception and public opening (which I could not attend). Some works had already sold and were out of the building. It’s possible that if you stop by to see the show in the coming weeks, you might not see the same show I saw. I think that professional etiquette in the context of the Arts District requires fairness to the interested viewing public – and the artist – by leaving all the work intact and viewable until a clearly stated end date. After all, we’re talking about art exhibits here, and not just glorified garage sales. ‘Nuff said.
    File this review under confessions of a conflicted voyeur. There’s a certain irony in naming this art exhibit “Oxytocin,” after a hormonal neurotransmitter that reportedly dispels anxiety or fear while engendering feelings of affectionate bonding. While I’m loathe to “love” these mixed media works on paper and canvas by Maxim Rossett, there are marginal aspects I “like,” if only in the Facebook application of the word. Liking something in that electronic universe is an ambiguous signifier, and not necessarily a clear indication of a wholeheartedly warm embrace of a specific idea or content. I respectfully ask that as you read on, hold that thought.
   The July 29 posting at www.curatorialcollective.com tells us that “noted influences” in Rossett’s art include such modernist luminaries as Henri Matisse, Jean Dubuffet, Philip Guston, and Cy Twombly. Yet based on the pictorial evidence we see in this exhibit, the influence of those particular painters often seems more incidental and peripheral than consistently substantive.
    I think a more revelatory exploration of historical precedents for Rossett’s punk-funk, “low-brow” approach can take us as at least as far back as the “anti-art” shenanigans of the Dada movement, which emerged just after World War I in Europe. The prevailing spirit among the Dadaists was one of vociferous disgust with what they perceived to be the utter corruption of Western culture. Their dismantling of traditional academic definitions and practices of art-making essentially climaxed a process that had begun during the last few decades of the 19th century. The seeds of their discontent would nevertheless grow into the daunting diversity of other ideas and methods that would shape all of 20th century Modern Art.
    Additionally, the frenetic drawing energy apparent in many of Rossett’s configurations, combined with the loose, spontaneous painting style (though too often appearing diffident and arbitrary) is in many ways a throwback to the “Neo-Expressionism” of the 1980s. In particular, the graphic impact of his figurative renderings at times brings to mind the urban graffiti character and brutally raw stylizations of Jean-Michel Basquiat’s (1960-88) paintings.
    Rossett’s works aren’t really “compositions” in any ostensibly elegant or traditional (academic) sense, though his black and white drawings do employ a relatively more sleek cohesiveness. They are, rather, sprawling juxtapositions, or panoramic collisions of disparate (and desperate) cartoons, appropriated imagery, cryptic symbols and frenzied, obsessive patterns often interspersed with textual content. Whether single words and phrases, or snippets of dialogue between the zany residents of these montages, they seem to constitute a collective sociopolitical commentary (sometimes with religious undertones) or philosophical treatise on…you name it.
   In one of the black and white drawings (unfortunately, there are no titles posted with the pieces), a thought balloon, hovering over the profile of a grimacing man holding a smiley-face mask on a stick in front of him, reads “Emotions grow hysterical beneath the passivity.” Just to the right of that passage, scrawled in jittery letters above the headless body of a nude woman, are the words “GAWD IS NOT DEAD.” And neither is gaud.
    Rossett’s pictures are meandering streams of consciousness (his, ours, or both?) that might describe a disjunctive flea market of the mind. Their compositional anarchy, and their sheer density of visual data is perhaps a symbol of, or messy paean to the dizzying manifestations and functions of contemporary social media. Therein, searching for the sublime and meaningful amid the ugly, the absurd, and the just plain silly, can be an exasperating exercise.  
    For that reason alone, I’ve often been tempted to unfriend the entire institution of Facebook, for example. Yet like many of us, I am easily hooked. Similarly, despite my ambivalence toward the brand of art practiced by Mr. Rossett, I can’t seem to stop looking at his derivative doodlings.

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Afterglows





Afterglows

By Tom Wachunas
 

    “For that is the power of the camera: seize the familiar and give it new meanings, a special significance by the mark of a personality.”
   -Alfred Stieglitz
   “…Walking through some of these spaces, you could almost feel some of the spirit that this town grew up with so many years ago…”
   -Michael Barath, speaking to Dan Kane, The Repository, Aug. 6, 2015

   EXHIBIT: Interiors, photographs by Michael Barath -  on view THROUGH AUGUST, at Julz by Alan Rodriguez, 220 Market Avenue N. in downtown Canton / Tues.- Fri. 9:30 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. / Sat. 9:30 a.m. to 3:00 p.m.

    The 20 photographs by Michael Barath in this exhibit, presented by TRANSLATIONS at Julz by Alan Rodriguez, constitute a ruminant journey through abandoned buildings from bygone days in Canton. The images depict various interiors of the now dormant Hercules Engine plant (its original building dating to the late 1800s), as well as interiors of other unspecified Victorian residential structures. Barath’s deftly composed images of atrophied architectures are certainly a nostalgic unveiling of sites long hidden from most of us, and a sobering witness to the ravages of time and neglect.
   Yet curiously enough, the character emanating from these images isn’t strictly one of doleful ruination. There is an aura of enchanting hauntedness that makes these “dead” spaces breathe with a mystical light. The factory interiors, some of them cavernous, such as Factory Afternoon, are imbued with a hushed luminosity that softly illuminates their structural rhythms and shadowed recesses. The sensation of dysphoric emptiness is delicately balanced with a misty, even reverential light that borders on the Gothic. And for that matter, Barath’s approach can additionally seem almost painterly in the way it captures, not unlike Romantic-era artists, a dramatic atmosphere.   
   A similar ethereality is at work in many of the residential spaces depicted -  Victorian Bathtub and Victorian Blue Bath, for exampleframed to focus on their strangely intricate geometries and textures. These pictures are both pragmatic and poetic records of evanescence. People lived here once.
   Amid the tactile grotesqueries of fallen plaster, rubble-strewn floors, or layers of peeling wallpaper, Barath’s compelling images of domestic relics arrested in time nonetheless leave us with an uncanny sense of lingering elegance, and of dignity in the deterioration.

 PHOTOS, from top (courtesy Michael Barath,    https://mbarath.smugmug.com/Site-Pages/About ): Factory 20, Factory Windows, Factory Afternoon, Victorian Blue Bath  

Thursday, July 30, 2015

Toward a Fuller Cultural Profile?





 Toward a Fuller Cultural Profile?

By Tom Wachunas

 

    First, a little background. The following two paragraphs are from the ArtsInStark web site, www.artsinstark.com .

   “Artist Gail Folwell, nationally recognized and awarded for her sculptures of athletes in action, has been awarded the second commission in The ELEVEN, a $2.2 million public art project of ArtsinStark and the Pro Football Hall of Fame celebrating the greatest moments in professional football history.  Her work, depicting The NFL Draft, 1936, will reside in Canton, Ohio, the birthplace of the National Football League (September 17, 1920), and the home of the eventual 11 public art pieces to be completed in 2020 for the 100th anniversary of the NFL…”

    “…I was drawn to The NFL Draft, 1936 (moment) because it demonstrated the collaboration between the business and the art of football.” said Folwell.  “For this reason, I was compelled to conceptually portray the team owner in a suit as the center on the team, building the roster of players around him…”
   Additionally, here’s a link to the video of the artwork being delivered to Canton’s Cultural Center for the Arts  : 

    Gail Folwell’s sculpture will be officially unveiled in Canton’s downtown Arts District on August 7, at the corner of 4th Street and Cleveland Avenue. The photographs above are (in order from the top down) of Folwell in her Colorado studio, the five-figure array of the sculpture-in- progress (both photos from ArtsInStark web site), a close-up I took of an unwrapped portion temporarily parked in the Cultural Center’s Great Court, and the newly-built concrete platform awaiting final installation.
    Beyond its programmatic relevance to the whole idea behind The Eleven project, the sculpture is a remarkable work of art in its own right. Folwell has invested her figures with both a sense of impending explosive motion and a visceral, expressive physicality. Though cast in bronze, they seem to have been carved out of solid rock. This in itself evokes football’s apparently permanent place in the landscape of America’s (not to mention Canton’s) “popular” culture. Folwell’s chosen medium of bronze casting is one steeped in a classical tradition that we rightly associate with elevating or monumentalizing human achievements. For a time-honored precedent, consider the ancient Greeks and their veneration of athletic pursuits expressed in exquisite bronze and marble statuary.
   Currently, the collection of Arts District public sculptures is primarily a mobile menagerie of funky fauna. While some might argue that this pastiche of mostly recycled industrial metal parts is an “entertaining” expression of artful whimsicality, it nonetheless collectively pales in comparison to the compelling elegance of a work such as Gail Folwell’s. Hers, I think, sets a very high bar for ArtsInStark’s future installations of public artworks, football-oriented and beyond.
    And why should it be otherwise? If the intent is to invest in impressive public art to enhance Canton’s Arts District and its downtown surrounds as a “tourist destination,” why can’t that art declare not just Canton’s famous connection to the NFL, but also the full legacy of Canton culture? I’m taking a cue from Folwell’s own words about her piece as demonstrating “…the collaboration between the business and the art of football,” and imagining a series of representational public artworks that speak to a collaboration between the business and the art of…art. All the arts, actually.
   Think of it – a series of public works to complement and balance The ELEVEN with celebrations of the Muses whose promptings have been active in Canton since long before the establishment of the NFL. Fantasy or feasibility? Do we have at least the will to realize specific, permanent public monuments to Canton’s remarkable (and too often neglected?) legacy of music, singing, theatre, ballet, and the visual arts?
    The ball, ArtsInStark, is in your hands.

Saturday, July 25, 2015

A Chromatic Constancy of Luminous Rhythms






A Chromatic Constancy of Luminous Rhythms

By Tom Wachunas
 

    “…The simplicity of the paintings and the intentional placement of each dot on the canvas felt like a meditation and a capturing of divine energy itself. I stood in front of their art with tears streaming down my face, the kinship so strong that I actually felt they were my paintings… My work is all about the energetic connection to spirit and depicts energy flowing through matter, energy flowing through color and various energies playing together…”
   - from artist statement by Barbara Harwell Francois

   EXHIBIT: From Down Under and Above - Aboriginal- inspired art by Barbara Harwell Francois, at Little Art Gallery, located in the North Canton Public Library, 185 North Main Street, North Canton -  THROUGH AUGUST 23, 2015 – 330.499.4712

   Some of the oldest images in the world are the cave and rock paintings made by prehistoric Australian Aboriginal artists, dated to between 40,000 and 50,000 years ago. The iconography of Aboriginal art points to an elaborate spiritual belief system articulated through ancient oral traditions that tell of the creation of the cosmos, death, and everything in between as it relates to communion with the land, forces of nature, and food gathering. Aboriginal artmaking continued into historical time, including the practice of making temporary images in the dirt (sand paintings) as part of the secretive and mysterious rituals of “dreamtime,” or “Ancestor Dreaming.” When the rituals were concluded, the symbolic images were rubbed out or left to the elements to reclaim them. In the early 1970s, contemporary Aboriginal artists developed a unique and more permanent visual language of abstract dot paintings on canvas that codified their traditional sacred symbols.
   When Barbara Harwell Francois saw an exhibit of Australian Aboriginal works at the Toledo Museum of Art in 2013, she tells us in her statement that she was inspired to paint for the first time, and “…felt an immediate kinship to the expression of their connection to the land and the spiritual realm…” Indeed, the intense sincerity and urgency of her statement leaves no doubt that the Aboriginal pieces she beheld had spoken to her with palpable resonance.
    A wonderful word, resonance. Webster defines it as “reinforcement and prolongation of a sound by reflection or vibration of other bodies.” I can’t tell you that all of this exhibit’s acrylic configurations on canvas are reflective of true Aboriginal iconography (though there are more than a few apparent similarities). But I don’t regard such knowledge as a prerequisite for embracing their spiritual sensibilities.
    There is an uncanny evocation of ethereal music and dance in these paintings - a communing with entities (or persons?) far removed from the incidentally ornate profusions of luminous patterns that comprise their look. Meticulously rendered rows of dots in a full spectrum of electrified colors (some of the paintings are monochromatic) seem to pulse and breathe, as if chanting a song of life under construction (molecularly and cosmically), or beating out the rhythmic momentum of sacred energy in an eternal cycle of congealing and dispersing. Call it a divine resonance.
   This ethereality is founded upon an exquisite materiality. Consider the somewhat architectural nature of the paintings’ pictorial structures, and their disciplined precision of execution. The myriad acrylic dots have a mechanical consistency about them, right down to the tiny crest of paint raised exactly in their centers, almost imperceptible from a few feet away. Maybe the applicator is a stamping device such as the eraser end of a pencil dipped in paint.
    While many of the paintings suggest fibrous weavings (one painting, Rag Rug 5, does in fact live up to its title), Francois infuses most of them with an effective illusion of depth. Her patterns aren’t merely flat ribbons of dots floating on dark grounds. Via a chiaroscuro effect achieved by the graduated transparency of color in the rows  of stamped dots (the paint wearing off the tip of the eraser with repeated pressing?), the bands take on a shadowed, wave-like dimensionality, curving into each other, or away from our gaze and into blackness.
   It might not be too much of a reach to think of that blackness as the infinite expanse of the cosmos and the dots as codified stars and planets. Or better yet, notes in a musical score. Perhaps in the spirit of Ancestor Dreaming, I’m reminded of the Greek philosopher and mathematician, Pythagoras, and his poetic speculations about sidereal harmonics. Imagine the physical universe as a single-stringed lyre, with one end of the string anchored in matter, the other in spirit. A grand harmony of gravitational forces plucks the string ceaselessly, producing the ineffable, beautiful Music of the Spheres.    

    PHOTOS, from top: Winter’s Rest; Vitality; We’re Rollin’; Patch Work; Life Force

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Some Notable Quotables


Some Notable Quotables

    As I begin teaching the Summer III session of a course called “Art as a World Phenomenon” at Kent Stark, it occurs to me once again that even though I’m the “teacher,” I am in fact, first and foremost, a perpetual student of art. As such, over my lifetime, I’ve gathered a bountiful crop of ideas and attitudes about art and artists. As teacher, then, I’m simply an impassioned student who gets to literally give away the fruits of my labors to other students . Or at the very least, I see my role as tilling the soil of other minds and souls in order to sow the seeds of an authentic and lasting art appreciation (not to be confused with “liking” art).
    And so it is that I present the following list of quotes not just to my university students, but to all of you faithful readers who share my passion to any degree. These words are NOT to be taken as indisputable truths or ironclad definitions of art. And I don’t agree with all of them. Rather, let them plow up contextual possibilities for embracing the sheer vastness of what we call art. In any case, I hope there are plenty enough seeds here to lead to a nourishing harvest.    

    The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance.  -Aristotle
    The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection. – Michelangelo
    Where the spirit does not work with the hand, there is no art.   -Leonardo da Vinci
    The mediator of the inexpressible is the work of art. - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
    Without tradition, art is a flock of sheep without a shepherd. Without innovation, it is a corpse.  -Winston Churchill
    A work of art is the unique result of a unique temperament. -Oscar Wilde
   Art is not what you see, but what you make others see.  -Edgar Degas
   Art is a harmony parallel with nature.  -Paul Cezanne
   Great art picks up where nature ends.  -Marc Chagall
    Without art, the crudeness of reality would make the world unbearable.  -George Bernard Shaw
    To send light into the darkness of men's hearts - such is the duty of the artist.  -Robert Schumann
    The history of modern art is also the history of the progressive loss of art's audience. Art has increasingly become the concern of the artist and the bafflement of the public.  -Paul Gauguin
    Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.  -Thomas Merton
    I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn't say any other way - things I had no words for.  -Georgia O'Keeffe
    You don't take a photograph, you make it.  -Ansel Adams
   I have no fear of making changes, destroying the image, etc., because the painting has a life of its own. -Jackson Pollock
    Art is the only way to run away without leaving home. -Twyla Tharp
   If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it.  -Anais Nin
    Art is the unceasing effort to compete with the beauty of flowers - and never succeeding.  -Gian Carlo Menotti
   Art is a step from what is obvious and well-known toward what is arcane and concealed.  -Khalil Gibran
  The role of the artist is to ask questions, not answer them. ― Anton Chekhov
  A writer should write with his eyes and a painter paint with his ears.  –Gertrude Stein
  What art offers is space - a certain breathing room for the spirit. -John Updike
  Painting, n.: The art of protecting flat surfaces from the weather, and exposing them to the critic.  –Ambrose Bierce
  Art is what you can get away with. ― Andy Warhol
    It may be that the deep necessity of art is the examination of self-deception.  -Robert Motherwell
   Photography is a major force in explaining man to man. -Edward Steichen
    Artists don't make objects. Artists make mythologies. -Anish Kapoor
   Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.”  ― C.S. Lewis
   Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.― Banksy

    PHOTO: The Sower, by Vincent Van Gogh