"you learn japanese calligraphy to let the hand take over; then you begin to watch the hand as though it is not yours...when the viscosity is right, it is close to (as the orientals are always trying to express) mindlessness, or to pure essences, with nothing between your beingness and the external world. as though your beingness were transmitted without intervention"
- r. motherwell
"art can help us become fluent with the life we are living"
- j. gage
there was a group of kids, about seven years old, sitting on the floor of the guggenheim in front of a black painting with colour-blocks painted in small, intersecting lines. the woman, the tour-guide, said "now, if you were the painter of this painting, what would you call it? what title would you give it?" every single kid sat up on their knees while keeping their legs crossed, arching and craning and wriggling their arms just for the sake of it, because it helped them come up with ideas. the woman deliberated elaborately and then called upon one boy with shaggy brown hair. yes! you! what would you call this painting?" the boy sat back on his haunches. he thought for a moment. "well," he said, "i would call it the creation." the teacher made a quizzical face and tilted her head. "oh yes? why would you call it that?" the boy tilted his head too, and replied "well, because it looks like what the world looked like as it was being formed. all black and dark and then bright lines of bright colour coming out of all that blackness, like a dance or a song or something, like the world is starting and it's gonna be good."
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