A painting is a symbol for the universe. Inside it, each piece relates to the other. Each piece is only answerable to the rest of that little world. So, probably in the total universe, there is that kind of total harmony, but we get only little tastes of it.
Interpretation
This quote suggests that art mirrors the interconnectedness of the universe, with each element influencing the others in harmony.
Corita Kent's quote reflects the idea that a painting serves as a microcosm of the universe, where every element is interdependent and contributes to a larger harmony. Just as each brushstroke in a painting relates to the whole, so too do the components of the universe interact to create a cohesive existence. While we may only experience fragments of this harmony in our lives, art offers a glimpse into the profound connections that exist within the universe.
In practice
In a discussion about the meaning of art in society.
In this speedy world of ours when facts are multiplying rapidly and giant rearrangements are happening all around us, it seems dangerous to be made nervous by the new - to want what we can never have, to want things not to be rearranged. It would be better to be able to take the leap, which is to be able not only to live with change and newness, but even to help make it.
It is a huge danger to pretend that awful things do not happen. But you need enough hope to keep going. I am trying to make hope. Flowers grow out of darkness.
I was born with music inside me. That's the only explanation I know of
A lot of what making art is, is just being open, and empty. And putting yourself in the right place for things to, literally, come together.
I think no woman I have had ever gave me so sweet a moment, or at so light a price, as the moment I owe to a newly heard musical phrase.
I'm not in any rush. I'm not somebody who, if I write a song, I get it out. That's not something I've ever really quite done.
Every painting is a voyage into a sacred harbor.
Neanderthal man listened to stories, if one may judge by the shape of his skull. The primitive audience was an audience of shock-heads, gaping around the camp-fire, fatigued with contending against the mammoth or wooly-rhinoceros, and only kept awake by suspense. What would happen next? The novelist droned on, and as soon as the audience guessed what happened next, they either fell asleep or killed him.
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