artist
It was so important to have center places. Now, instead of five hundred artists there are fifty thousand in New York. There is no center. Max’s Kansas City was central to us.
The Paris Review Daily, Taylor Mead’s Lost East Village, by Craig Hubert, June 11, 2012.
She is forty-five and austerely handsome, with large eyes the color of coal and a wide, upturned mouth that often gives her a wry expression. She wears sneakers, black trousers, a wool cardigan with elbow patches—the indifferent wardrobe of someone who devotes her energy to looking rather than to being seen.
“Celluloid Hero: Tacita Dean’s exhilirating homage to film,” by Emily Eakin, New Yorker, October 31, 2011, 54.
To the young artist who may be reading this: consider the possibility that you might actually be lucky when you get rejected from stuff. Because of this streak of what appeared to be bad luck, I fell into my life as it is today.
Interview by Nica de la Torre, BOMB magazine, Issue 117, Fall 2011.
There is as emphatically a morality expressed in Babylonian architecture or Baroque architecture as if it were plastered all over with Biblical texts. Now in the same manner there is at the back of every artist’s mind something like a pattern or a type of architecture. The original quality in any man of imagination is imagery. It is a thing like the landscapes of his dreams; the sort of world he would wish to make or in which he would wish to wander; the strange flora and fauna of his own secret planet; the sort of thing that he likes to think about.
“In the Country of Skelt,” in The Collected Works of G. K. Chesterton, vol 18 (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1991), 53.