never belong

My definition of storytelling is to create something for someone other than yourself. My definition of acting is the same. This is also my definition of art, any art. Because art can never belong to anyone except the audience who witnesses it. And in a way, this is also my definition of life.

F.K. Preston, The Artist, The Audience and a Man Called Nothing

last forever

Artists wish to offer the audience something that will last forever. A gift that will surpass living and dying. The gift must be something intimate. Something beautiful. It must be something real.

F.K. Preston, The Artist, The Audience and a Man Called Nothing

about commerce

If it was just about music and art, it would be terrific; I’d put it out tomorrow. But it becomes about commerce, and then people who have never had the balls to pick up a paintbrush or a violin come out of the woodwork and try to get their pound of flesh.

James McAllen, Pretentious

prison sentence

“Look, there is nothing like playing in front of a large audience. It’s the best feeling in the world. It’s better than sex, it’s better than drugs, it’s better than money. But like anything else, it gets old. If you did one gig a month, it would be awesome, but that’s not how it works. Out on the road, it’s just buses and hotels and gigs and more buses. Ten gigs in two weeks is like a prison sentence after a while. And living with five other dudes? A nightmare.”

James McAllen, Pretentious

father’s chagrin

When it came time for him to pick out a guitar of his own choosing, he picked a Gibson Les Paul, much to his father’s chagrin. When Jack heard the news, he sent Dylan a postcard of Jimi Hendrix with the word “Traitor” written on it.

James McAllen, Pretentious

mangled neck

When he was done, he went and picked up his guitar and in a flash of violence smashed it on the side of his amp repeatedly until all that was left was the mangled neck and a pile of splintered wood scattered on the floor.

James McAllen, Pretentious

unhappy life

“They say,” writes the ancient vegetarian Porphyry, “that primitive men led an unhappy life, for their superstition did not stop at animals but extended even to plants. For why should the slaughter of an ox or a sheep be a greater wrong than the felling of a fir or an oak, seeing that a soul is implanted in these trees also?”

Sir James George Frazer, The Golden Bough