Marc Chagall Quotes

If I create from the heart, nearly everything works; if from the head, almost nothing.

In our life there is a single color, as on an artist palette which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.

Love and fantasy, go hand in hand.

Color is all. When color is right, form is right. Color is everything, color is vibration like music; everything is vibration.

I had only to open my bedroom window, and blue air, love, and flowers entered with her”.

In the arts, as in life, everything is possible provided it is based on love.

All colors are the friends of their neighbors and the lovers of their opposites.

What a genius, that Picasso. It is a pity he doesn't paint.

Art seems to me to be a state of soul more than anything else.

I have always painted pictures where human love floods my colors.

You could wonder for hours what flowers mean, but for me, they're life itself, in all its happy brilliance. We couldn't do with out flowers. Flowers help you forget life's tragedies.

Mine alone is the country of my soul.

Only love interests me, and I am only in contact with things I love.

I am a child who is getting on.

Changes in societal structure and in art would possess more creditbility if they had their origins in the soul & spirit. If people read the words of the prophets with closer attention, they would find the keys to life. -Marc Chagall

Vielleicht ist meine Kunst die Kunst eines Wahnsinnigen, ein funkelndes Quecksilber, eine blaue Seele, die über meine Bilder hereinbricht.

Cependant les années s'avançaient. Il fallait commencer à imiter les autres, leur ressembler.

Her silence is mine.

To be attached to one's dreams and yet to advocate reality constituted no contradiction in Chagall's eyes.

If I create from the heart, almost everything works; if from the head, almost nothing

I did four pastel drawings from the permanent collection - a Chagall, a Franz Marc, and two Picassos. I picked those because I could tell the paintings were looking at me as hard as I was looking at them.

It is the butterfly in my eyes, it is an old toy.

If I create from the heart, nearly everything works: if from the head, almost nothing. —MARC CHAGALL

The intensity of that gaze never unnerved her. He was Marc Chagall, and he looked at her neither as man nor father but as an artist in the throes of creation. It

Sophie has a photograph of Graham with Alexander Calder, Marianne Moore, Herbert Matter, and Marc Chagall, all laughing together in front of one of Calder’s mobiles; it sits tucked into the frame of her mirror at home, a reminder of something. Something bigger. Bigger than delivering Chateau truffle fries to a table before they get soggy, bigger than the next starlet, producer, or director treated like royalty. Bigger even than her upcoming performance. The idea of that room and those friendships hints at some worldly rightness, some intangible hope that Sophie has to believe in. A collective heart that beats as hers, if only nurtured and surrounded by people like her. Or different from her—but open. Connected.

Rare as is true love, true friendship is rarer.

Marc Chagall’s White Crucifixion (1938) was painted shortly after Kristallnacht—the horrifying, widespread Nazi raid on German Jews. The painting shows a world swallowed up by violence, including the figure of Christ on the cross with a Jewish prayer shawl draped around his loins.