Quotessence
Home / Topics / Canvas Quotes

Canvas Quotes

Browse 637 quotes about Canvas.

Related topics

Canvas Quotes

“In the fear of creating something normal, he stared at that blank canvas for a very long time with a brush in his hand. He waited until all the paint dried up, his heart didn't sing the songs anymore, the fire in his soul turned into ash, his flesh turned into bones and until his dreams and thoughts faded into the oblivion.”

“In themselves pictures are beyond words, beyond concepts, beyond thought, they invoke the presence of the world on the world's terms, which also means that everything that has been thought and written in this book stops being valid the moment your gaze meets the canvas.”

“The memory of human blood manifests now as a kind of visceral reaction to seeing people's veins and their necks. The skin on a neck appears to me as different from the skin anywhere else on a body. It seems as thin and consumable as rice paper wrapped around a sweet. It is too blank compared with skin everywhere else, as though it is asking to have marks made on it, like very expensive calligraphy paper, or cold-pressed Fabriano. Often, I wonder whether the urge I have to make art is the same as the urge to consume and destroy the blankness of a human neck. While at art college, I read that the best paper used by artists in the seventeenth century was made from the skins of lamb fetuses. This skin was soft and absorbent, and had an even texture right across its surface. For a long time, the process of creating art has been linked to the killing of living things. My dad, even, used fine silk stretched across wooden frames in his own work as a painter. Once, when we still had some of his pieces, I looked at the odd geometric shapes he created on a huge sheet and thought about all the silkworms who had had their cocoons torn open before they were able to become moths.”

“Imaginative people remain distinguished ....for their heavenly madness. ...They do not run away from chaos or the stab of grief....but by encountering and getting to grips with loss...they force it to crack open and make a sense, sanity out of that insanity....They tear apart the haze to peer through the fog...for the pen they hold...the brush they move on the canvas....takes them to chase the meaningless and resurface with a meaning.....”

“There's something magical about painting. It's the closest thing I've felt to the enchantment of casting a spell. The thick tubes of creamy paint, especially when they're fresh. The sleek tips of the brushes I like, the dark fibers contrasting with the bright colors. It's in front of the canvas that I feel like me. It's a feeling I can't capture elsewhere, really. It's like all that blank space is a mirror, and for once, it sees me---the true me. And I'm not invisible. Here, the paint, the art, it makes me real. Into somebody who leaves a trace.”

“On the great canvas of time We all create our own masterpiece. Choreographing our steps across minutes and hours Dancing over the days Painting pictures over months and Writing our stories on the years. Singing our songs that echo across eons. We are all a thread in the talent tapestry. A snapshot in the cosmic, collective collage.”

“Colour and light playing seriously on the canvas, making stunning pictures. Breathtaking, wondrous, silent, wordless signs, leading to your inner self. Feel. The painter has given you a key to your own universe. It brings you silence in the midst of your tumultuous world. The world is full of signposts, find them, take them in. Cherish them, breathe in the moment. Naked, vulnerable, fearless, silent. You are here to meet the I.”

“He can hit a man in the liver so the blood flow stops. It takes a full second before the pain registers and the man falls. I've seen Billy hook men's livers and punch at their hearts. I've seen him break a man's nose in the ring, shatter an eardrum, close an eye. I've seen him hit a man so hard, fist to jaw, the man seemed to fall asleep before he fell, his body so relaxed his face looked calm even when his head slammed against canvas.”

“Social counterpoints can be a shrieking reality. But life may nevertheless become a colorful canvas with an array of opportunities, allowing us to escape from the suffocation of our enclosure if we hold ourselves receptive to the healing power of the daily little marvels and stay aware of the vivifying unexpectedness of the ‘moment’. (‘"Côté cour…Côté jardin" )”