Foley Artist Quotes

My job,” Mitzi said, “is to make everyone in the whole world scream at the exact same time.

For me, those works were the artistic equivalent of a teenage diary: full of overblown sentiment and melodrama.

A collection like a circus of daredevils, but with the determined charm of a Chinese drag queen making her home in Iowa. Siasoco takes us on a trip through the world we know by way of characters I've not seen in fiction before, or at least, not enough of--characters with stories I have been waiting for. A bravura debut.

Why paint at all? ... Do you like painting? Yes? Very well, then, that is a good enough reason. "But the results are rather laughable," you may say. All right, laugh. It will do you a lot of good. You find it impossible to say all that you want to say? So did Rembrandt and any other artist who ever lived. "My perspective drawing is weak." So it was in all art up to the Renaissance. "I can't get the colours as bright." Agreed - and here the position is worse than you think! Take a sheet of white paper or a piece of canvas painted with your whitest white. Hold it up against the light. It is a dirty grey. And your blackest black is not as dark as the absence of light in nature. Your keyboard, so to speak, is restricted. That is why it is stating the obvious to look at a landscape and say, "Look at that. No artist could paint it." He can paint much of what the speaker sees, however, and because the artist sees deeper, he may paint something more.

She slipped her hands into her apron pockets and stood very still, the sunlight warming her skin, glistening upon her bright, reddish-gold hair. She tensed her body tightly, trying to get rid of the well-hidden tension that plagued her, then forced her shoulders to relax and took deliberate pleasure in gazing upon the vase of dried hydrangeas that she had arranged just yesterday. The flowers graced the center of the table. Beside them lay the elegant silk purses she was sewing as Christmas gifts for a few of her London friends, and her delicate japanning tools, perched well out of Harry's reach. Her latest piece, an intricate jewel box, sat in a middle stage of completion. All of her hobbies ran in an artistic vein, but in her heart, she knew in a sense they were merely distractions, her way of trying to burn off her restlessness.

She turned absently from her contemplative study of the lily pads. "Your garden is beautiful." He shrugged and glanced around at it. "It is overgrown." "Yes, but it has a lost, eerie beauty that quite pleases me. I wish I had my watercolor set." Lucien lifted his eyebrows. "Ah, are you an artistic young lady, Miss Montague?" She smiled reluctantly. "I have been known to dabble." He laughed softly, tickled by the revelation. 'An artist. Of course.' Those beautiful hands. That penetrating gaze. The seething passion under her cool, demure surface. "What sort of work do you most enjoy?" he asked as they sauntered past rows of one-conical yews that had grown into huge, dark green lumps. "Sketching faces." "Really?" "Portraits in charcoal are my forte, but I love watercolors and all sorts of crafts. Japanning, fancy embroidery.

And you do find those people. Whether they’re your friends, or—often you find these people that are amazing and beautiful and their whole life is about like—there are Foley artists, you know, sound effects guys, and their whole life is about trying to make this perfect “plop” sound. They’re like, “Oh, if you drop a stone in this metal basin with just the right amount of water in it, it will make a perfect “plop’ sound.” These craftsmen nuts, that’s all they do. They’re just geniuses. It’s beautiful. People who want to do the best that they can do even on something that most people don’t notice. And those are the people you want to find.