When I was 10, my parents really valued success in the arts, and I thought if I was a famous 'something artistic,' that they would love me more.
Interpretation
The quote reflects a child's desire for parental approval through artistic success.
In this quote, Sia expresses the childhood belief that achieving success in art would lead to greater affection from her parents. It highlights the universal struggle for approval and recognition from loved ones, especially during formative years, and raises questions about the connections between success, identity, and self-worth in the context of familial relationships.
In practice
This quote could be used in a speech about the pressures of youth in pursuing artistic careers.
I don't go to shows because I just want to listen to the music performed live. I want to get to know the person who's performing it. Or I want to, like, take away a sense that I had an experience that nobody else is going to have again, or a unique experience for that moment.
I don't care what people think of me, unless they think I'm mean or something, but I don't care if they think I'm like someone else because I know I'm not - I'm a total weirdo. I'm not selling a dream; I'm not selling fame like it is some sort of fantastic thing. I'm just trying to sell music and get on with my real life.
My goal is to give girls and boys a different idea of expression. It's not always about looking pretty or cute. It's about expressing yourself however that may be, even if that's being silly or goofy or weird.
There's always a need at a critical time for poetry.
The reality of the final moment, just before shooting [the scene], is so powerful that all previous analysis must yield before the impressions you receive under these circumstances, and unless you use this feedback to your positive advantage, unless you adjust to it, adapt to it and accept the sometimes terrifying weaknesses it can expose, you can never realize the most out of your film.
What i like about photographs is that they capture a moment thatβs gone forever, impossible to reproduce.
What release to write so that one forgets oneself, forgets one's companion, forgets where one is or what one is going to do next to be drenched in sleep or in the sea. Pencils and pads and curling blue sheets alive with letters heap up on the desk.
I haven't found a drug yet that can get you anywhere near as high as a sitting at a desk writing, trying to imagine a story no matter how bizarre it is, [or] going out and getting into the weirdness of reality and doing a little time on the Proud Highway.
The whole world, as we experience it visually, comes to us through the mystic realm of color.
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