All art really does is keep you focused on questions of humanity, and it really is about how do we get on with our maker.
David BowieRead
I don't have stylistic loyalty. That's why people perceive me changing all the time. But there is a real continuity in my subject matter. As an artist of artifice, I do believe I have more integrity than any one of my contemporaries.
Interpretation
David Bowie expresses his fluidity in style while maintaining a consistent thematic focus in his work.
In this quote, David Bowie highlights his diverse stylistic changes, indicating that while his appearance and approach may evolve, he remains committed to exploring certain core themes in his art. He argues that this adaptability does not diminish his artistic integrity; rather, it showcases a deeper understanding of his subject matter compared to his peers.
In practice
In a speech at an art exhibition, one might reference this quote to highlight the importance of innovation in creative expression.
All art really does is keep you focused on questions of humanity, and it really is about how do we get on with our maker.
I guess, taking away all the theatrics or the costuming and the outer layers of what I do, I'm a writer... I write.
I always had a repulsive need to be something more than human.
Nothing prepared me for your smile
But I've got to think of myself as the luckiest guy. Robert Johnson only had one album's worth of work as his legacy. That's all that life allowed him.
I'm an early riser. I get up between five and six, have coffee, and read for a couple of hours before everyone else gets up.
Music has to keep moving. But I was lucky. For me there was always something around the corner.
The urge to destroy is also a creative urge.
This idea that a book can either be about character and feeling, or about politics and idea, is just a false binary. Ideas are an expression of the feelings and the intense emotions we hold about the world.
It was a pleasant cafe, warm and clean and friendly, and I hung up my old water-proof on the coat rack to dry and put my worn and weathered felt hat on the rack above the bench and ordered a cafe au lait. The waiter brought it and I took out a notebook from the pocket of the coat and a pencil and started to write.
When I hear music, it seems to me that all the sins of my life pass slowly by me with veiled faces, lay their hands on my head, and say softly, "My child."
For me, writing [was] a question of survival...I could not trust anyone, even my family. The atmosphere was so poisoned. People even in your own family could turn you in.
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