I don't believe in art. I believe in artists.
Anything is art if an artist says it is.
The artist performs only one part of the creative process. The onlooker completes it, and it is the onlooker who has the last word.
It's true, of course, humor is very important in my life, as you know. That's the only reason for living, in fact.
The creative act is not performed by the artist alone; the spectator brings the work in contact with the external world by deciphering and interpreting its inner qualifications and thus adds his contribution to the creative act.
As soon as we start putting our thoughts into words and sentences everything gets distorted, language is just no damn good—I use it because I have to, but I don’t put any trust in it. We never understand each other.
All this twaddle, the existence of God, atheism, determinism, liberation, societies, death, etc., are pieces of a chess game called language, and they are amusing only if one does not preoccupy oneself with 'winning or losing this game of chess.
It's not what you see that is art. Art is the gap.
You cannot define electricity. The same can be said of art. It is a kind of inner current in a human being, or something which needs no definition.
The life of an artist is like the life of a monk, a lewd monk if you like, very Rabelaisian. It is an ordination.
Destruction is also creation.
Living is more a question of what one spends than what one makes.
What I have in mind is that art may be bad, good or indifferent, but, whatever adjective is used, we must call it art, and bad art is still art in the same way that a bad emotion is still an emotion.
Artmaking is making the invisible, visible.
I am interested in ideas, not merely in visual products.
I believe that the artist doesn't know what he does. I attach even more importance to the spectator than to the artist.
Art has the lovely habit of ruining all artistic theories.
It's the viewer that makes the work.
Aesthetic delectation is the danger to be avoided.
I have forced myself to contradict myself in order to avoid conforming to my own taste.
Art is like a shipwreck; it's every man for himself.
No, the thing to do is try to make a painting that will be alive in your own lifetime.
Do unto others as they wish, but with imagination.
Art is not about itself but the attention we bring to it.
In the last analysis, the artist may shout from all the rooftops that he is a genius; he will have to wait for the verdict of posterity.
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