tag > Art
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Poem by Shiwu (石屋) / Stonehouse (1272–1352)
When the red sun climbs above the blue mountains
the door of my hut is still closed
before the white-haired monk is up
ants are already making their roundsMy hut is so secluded it's beyond the reach of dust
my mind is so detached it's left the world behind somewhere
a peach tree is blooming wild birds encircle my door with twigs -
Ananda Coomaraswamy (1877 - 1947) on Art
Industry without art is brutality.
The artist is not a special kind of man, but every man is a special kind of artist.
Art is nothing tangible. We cannot call a painting 'art' as the words 'artifact' and 'artificial' imply. The thing made is a work of art made by art, but not itself art. The art remains in the artist and is the knowledge by which things are made.
“Let us tell them the painful truth, that most of these works of art are about God, whom we never mention in polite society.”
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"A point of view is a serious liability in approaching this canvas." (Art: Georges Braque - The Table)
