Eric Maisel Quotes
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The artist, busy and unsettled, can find a moment's peace - and even whole-being rejuvenation - by quietly attuning to a red sky, a gray sky, a black sky, a blue sky.
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Art and business may be strange bedfellows, but an artist must make room in her bed for both.
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Remind yourself of the value of detaching from work that's out of your hands and committing to new work that wants to be born.
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As the artist matures she is continuously shaken by what she manages to discover: by the earth shifting beneath her feet once again, by her own amazed, ringing laughter.
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The artist must possess at least as much conviction as does his enemy, the dogmatic, mealy-mouthed, anti-art bigot.
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An artist who is too self-centered is liable to exhibit faults he abhors: carelessness, callousness, and even downright cruelty.
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The artist must reckon with his own character flaws, which do not disappear just because he has been called to be an artist.
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The artist who pictures sounds as colours, who feels the difference in microns between one sea green and another... is not attending to what the world considers important.
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The artist's task is to become a successful eccentric, a strange but wise duck able to venture out of solitary confinement and mingle among society.
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It is the artist's job to revere beauty without being enchanted by it, to aim for it but also to aim for truth and goodness - just in case they, and not beauty, are the real things of value.
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Boredom is the thing that regularly arrives between excitements and episodes of meaning: it is as natural as the tides, and in it an artist can drown.
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No muse shoots darts of insight into the unsuspecting artist.
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The wise artist makes peace with the fact that he will understand less than he had anticipated.
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Chaos is everywhere - and artists, to fashion art and live truthfully, have no choice but to invite this unwanted guest right into the studio.
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Dream, but expect nothing. Desire, but expect nothing. Hope, but expect nothing. Release your need to control and gain real control.
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An inability to choose is a hallmark of anxiety... The too-anxious artist, afraid to choose, will halt dead in the water.
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If we had the consciousness of a cat or a dog, we would have it in us to become perfect Zen masters. We could gnaw on a bone, take a nap, play with a spider until we killed it, get our litter just right, and be innocently and serenely present. Meaning would mean nothing to us, nor would we need it to mean anything. We would be free, and we would be spared. But, we are human beings, and we posses that odd duck – human consciousness.
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The artist is a god, but he is also an idiot. That is the human way.
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There are an infinite number of rewards you could bestow on yourself for working at your creative projects, and you deserve every one of them.
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An artist... must actively caress wonder: for fascination, like the desire to play, can be eradicated by the rigors of living.
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Settle into mystery as you would settle into your most comfortable chair. Listen. Have visions. Lose yourself.
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Ambition is vital, but dangerous: it is a keen motive and a driving force, but over what edge can it drive the artist?
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A composition is an arrangement, built out of parts, that aims at seamlessness.
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The artist, who must venture into the studio and risk there, and then venture into the marketplace and risk again, is obliged to learn how her defences work, so that she can drop and raise her guard instantly.