Francis Bacon, Study After Velazquez’s Portrait of Pope Innocent X, 1953, oil on canvas
(Source: bewareofmpreg)
An artist never works under ideal conditions. If they existed, his work wouldn’t exist, for the artist doesn’t live in a vacuum. Some sort of pressure must exist. The artist exists because the world is not perfect. Art would be useless if the world were perfect, as man wouldn’t look for harmony but would simply live in it. Art is born out of an ill-designed world.
- Andrei Tarkovsky
For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice,—T. S. Eliot, Section II of Quartet no. 4 “Little Gidding,” lines 118-119, from Four Quartets (Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1943)
"I used to be your favorite drunk
Good for one more laugh
Then we both ran out of luck
And luck was all we had"
