Don't just live the length of your life - live the width of it as well.
Diane AckermanRead
Much of life becomes background, but it is the province of art to throw buckets of light into the shadows and make life new again.
Interpretation
Art helps to illuminate and refresh our understanding of life by revealing beauty in the mundane.
In this quote, Diane Ackerman suggests that while much of life can often feel mundane and unnoticed, art has the unique ability to shine a light on those overlooked aspects, revealing their beauty and significance. By doing so, art revitalizes our perception of life, encouraging us to see the world with renewed eyes and appreciation.
In practice
In a discussion about the role of creativity in society, one might use this quote to emphasize art's transformative power.
Don't just live the length of your life - live the width of it as well.
We try to exile ourselves more and more from nature - not always consciously: We build houses; we dismiss nature; nature has to be outside, because we're inside. God forbid something like a cockroach comes inside, or some dust.
We ogle plants and animals up close on television, the Internet and in the movies. We may not worship the animals we see, but we still regard them as necessary physical and spiritual companions. Technological nature can't completely satisfy that yearning.
Because IQ tests favor memory skills and logic, overlooking artistic creativity, insight, resiliency, emotional reserves, sensory gifts, and life experience, they can't really predict success, let alone satisfaction.
American writer_x000D_ _x000D_ 1803-1882_x000D_ _x000D_ Play is our brain's favorite way of learning.
In rare moments of deep play, we can lay aside our sense of self, shed time's continuum, ignore pain, and sit quietly in the absolute present, watching the world's ordinary miracles. No mind or heart hobbles. No analyzing or explaining. No questing for logic. No promises. No goals. No relationships. No worry. One is completely open to whatever drama may unfold.
There are two kinds of writers; the great ones who can give you truths, and the lessor ones, who can only give you themselves.
I have not lost any of my crazy, fearless, raw, soulful, eclectic side and I plan on continuing to tell universal stories in an unforgettable way.
With the pride of the artist, you must blow against the walls of every power that exists the small trumpet of your defiance.
I find in all the artists that I admire most a disturbing element, a distortion, giving evidence of a struggle . . . . In great art, this conflict is hidden, it is unresolved. All that is bursting with energy is disturbing - not perfect.
My father was a taxidermist, not a run-of-the-mill profession for a West Indian immigrant. Having given up on becoming a vet, he settled for working with dead animals rather than live ones. Dad was a true craftsman, an artist.
His outflung hands traced over the threads of his rug, passed loop by loop through some patient woman's hands. Or maybe she hadn't been patient. Maybe she'd been tired, or irritated, or distracted, or hungry, or angry. Maybe she had been dying. But her hands had kept moving, all the same.
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