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When I was about seven, my red-haired maiden aunt Alma, who lived with an artist named Theresa in the big city of Portland, Oregon, came to visit us in Pocatello, Idaho. When Alma and Theresa drove their Chevy coupe into our yard, those two women splashed pastels on the heat. My mother put a bow in her hair and sat on the sofa with her sister and they laughed til their gums showed. Theresa, the artist from Portland, took her paints out onto the picnic table. I sat next to her and watched as she set up her canvas. I sat next to her and watched as she painted the flat expanses of sagebrush onto the canvas. When Theresa was finished, what she had painted, where there were no mountains on the horizon, Theresa had painted beautiful green mountains onto the canvas.
I have so much to thank Theresa, the artist from Portland, for. She gave me a dream, a vision. I have spent my life looking for where those beautiful green mountains came from. I haven’t seen them yet, but I always know they are there.
-- Tom Spanbauer
Every artist worthy of his name is in permanent revolt against his own style. The most exalting part of his effort, but also the most thankless task, consists in preventing the codification, even by himself, of his own style.
-- Charles Estienne
Art does not create objects of practical use; it creates images for spiritual needs.
-- Werner Haftmann
Through art, God constantly clears a path to our hearts.
-- Dominique de Menil
Art takes what in life is an accidental pleasure and tries to repeat and prolong it.
-- Edwin Denby
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