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Quote by Robert Hellenga

“He doesn't believe in talking too much about art, especially while you're looking at it. The pressure to appreciate is the great enemy of actual enjoyment. Most people don't know what they like because they feel obligated to like so many different things. They feel they're supposed to be overwhelmed, so instead of looking, they spend their time thinking up something to say, something intelligent, or at least clever.”

Quote by Robert Hellenga

Work

The Sixteen Pleasures

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Author

Robert Hellenga

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“And I understand my sisters when they say every woman has a story that's been told a maxim of one soul, maybe less And that is why you'll never hear me call a woman slut, bitch or a dyke, No matter what she does, because I do not blame her I blame the men who have emotionally and physically raped her, I blame these corporations whose images tell them they hate her, And I put my arms on her shoulder and tell her how great to life and to God that SHE created her”

“ما أشبه نفوسنا بتربة طيبة في جوهرها لا تعوزها عناصر الخصب و الإزدهار إلا أنها أصبحت على تعاقب الأزمنة صلبة متماسكة بجذورها المتحجرة لا يزكو فيها نبات جديد فنحن أحوج ما نكون إلا محراث ضخم حديد المخالب تحرث به تلك التربة فيقيض مضاجع تلك الجذور و هل المحراث إلا العزيمة و الجرأة ؟”

“For me, this is when the act of watching transforms into the act of witnessing. To witness something implies a responsiveness, the response/ability of the viewer toward the performer. It is radically different from what we might call the 'consuming' gaze that says 'here, you entertain me, I bought a ticket, and I'm going to sit back and watch.' This traditional gaze doesn't want to get involved, doesn't want to give anything back.”

“Love. I'm not capable of it, can't even approach it from the side, let alone head-on. Nor am I alone in this—everyone is like this, the liars. Singing songs and painting pictures and telling each other stories about love and its mysteries and marvelous properties, myths to keep morale up—maybe one day it'll materialize. But I can say it ten times a day, a hundred times, 'I love you,' to anyone and anything, to a woman, to a pair of pruning shears. I've said it without meaning it at all, taken love's name in vain and gone dismally unpunished. Love will never be real, or if it is, it has no power. No power. There's only covetousness, and if what we covet can't be won with gentle words—and often it can't—then there is force.”