The artist is the confidant of nature, flowers carry on dialogues with him through the graceful bending of their stems and the harmoniously tinted nuances of their blossoms.
The creative act is not pure. History evidences it. Ideology demands it. Society exacts it. The artist loses his freedom the moment he creates a work of art.
The art of the past is being mystified because a privileged minority is striving to invent a history which can retrospectively justify the role of the ruling class.
The art of the past is being mystified because a privileged minority is striving to invent a history which can retrospectively justify the role of the ruling classes.
The art of competing, I’d learned from track, was the art of forgetting, and I now reminded myself of that fact. You must forget your limits. You must forget your doubts, your pain, your past.
The art of competing, I’d learned from track, was the art of forgetting, and I now reminded myself of that fact. You must forget your limits. You must forget your doubts, your pain, your past.
