It's high time for the art world to admit that the avant-garde is dead. It was killed by my hero, Andy Warhol, who incorporated into his art all the gaudy commercial imagery of capitalism (like Campbell's soup cans) that most artists had stubbornly scorned.
There's no enemy in the auditioning process. Everybody wants you to be the right person when you walk in the room. We're all just trying to make a soup here, and they're trying to figure out the right ingredients for the soup.
I want to add something worthwhile rather than just chucking loads of stuff into the world. I don't want to feel responsible for adding to the soup of mediocrity.
Most people don't know that humans kill 100 million sharks every year, mostly for a really expensive soup in Asia.
People who volunteer at the recycling center or soup kitchen through a church or neighborhood group can come to feel part of something 'larger.' Such a sense of belonging calls on a different part of a self than the market calls on. The market calls on our sense of self-interest. It focuses us on what we 'get.'
I think that women just have a primeval instinct to make soup, which they will try to foist on anybody who looks like a likely candidate.
During the strict macrobiotic chapter of my life, I ate miso soup every day for breakfast and sometimes with dinner as well.
Heaven to me is percussion and bass, a screaming guitar and a burbling Hammond B-3 organ. It's a soup I love being immersed in.
History is not a long series of centuries in which men did all the interesting/important things and women stayed home and twiddled their thumbs in between pushing out babies, making soup and dying in childbirth.
The problem with State of the Union speeches is that they are, by their nature and design, alphabet soup. It's hard to know what a president really cares about when they run down a laundry list and check every issue box under the sun for fear they will offend some constituency if they don't.