Still falls the rain - dark as the world of man, black as our loss - blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails upon the Cross.
Edith SitwellRead
What an artist is for is to tell us what we see but do not know that we see.
Interpretation
Artists reveal hidden truths about our perceptions and the world around us.
In this quote by Edith Sitwell, the role of an artist is emphasized as a crucial interpreter of reality. Artists possess the unique ability to express perceptions and insights that may elude the average observer, illuminating aspects of life and beauty that we are aware of but do not fully understand or appreciate. Through their work, they guide us to a deeper comprehension of our experiences and surroundings.
In practice
This quote can be used in an art class to inspire students to explore deeper meanings in their work.
Still falls the rain - dark as the world of man, black as our loss - blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails upon the Cross.
My personal hobbies are reading, listening to music, and silence.
It is part of the poet's work to show each man what he sees but does not know he sees.
The public will believe anything, so long as it is not founded on truth.
Poetry is the deification of reality.
As for the usefulness of poetry, its uses are many. It is the deification of reality.
Those who want to be serious photographers, you're really going to have to edit your work. You're going to have to understand what you're doing. You're going to have to not just shoot, shoot, shoot. To stop and look at your work is the most important thing you can do.
I consider tragedy the highest form of art.
As a musician I'm kind of nomadic, Waldo-like. I show up in different places, and I'm witness to unbelievable things.
In the future, you won't buy artists' works; you'll buy software that makes original pieces of 'their' works, or that recreates their way of looking at things. You could buy a Shostakovich box, or you could buy a Brahms box. You might want some Shostakovich slow-movement-like music to be generated. So then you use that box.
And from that time on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, Devouring the green azures; where, entranced in pallid flotsam, A dreaming drowned man sometimes goes down.
To say that these men paid their shillings to watch twenty-two hirelings kick a ball is merely to say that a violin is wood and catgut, that Hamlet is so much paper and ink.
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