The Artist (n.) is not a person endowed with free will who seeks his own ends, but one who allows art to realize its purpose through him.
Artist (n.) is one who, for the sake of humanity, is ready to sacrifice happiness and everything that makes life worth living for the ordinary human being.
An Artist (n.) is not a reproducer of appearances but a creator and educator, whose works are symbols that sketch lines of future development.
An Artist (n.) who is less viable, more abnormal, makes symbols of narrower social validity — though they may be absolute for him.
Artist (n.) and highly emotional people may lodge the ego in the anima rather than the persona — and have the same daemonic fear of reality that ordinary people have of the unconscious.
An Artist (n.) is what patients who give their dreams form without seeking their meaning sometimes fancy themselves — misunderstood ones, naturally.
An Artist (n.) is now what many call themselves by their own grace, as if art required no ability — but if you have nothing to create, perhaps you create yourself.
An Artist (n.) pays for the work with his conscious energy: the drained ego sinks into apathy or regresses, the instinctual prevailing over the ethical, the infantile over the mature.
An Artist (n.) whose personal psychology fully explained his work would stand revealed as a mere symptom.
An Artist (n.) as artist is neither autoerotic nor erotic in any sense, but objective, impersonal, even inhuman — for as an artist he is nothing but his work.
An Artist (n.) is the exact opposite of an official, yet secretly like one: like the gentleman, the officer and the cardinal, his role has a psychology more collective than personal.
An Artist (n.) is explained by his art, not his art by him: his conflicts and insufficiencies are only the regrettable results of carrying a heavier burden than ordinary mortals.
An Artist (n.) may go the way of the Philistine, the good citizen, the fool or the criminal; his career may be interesting, but it does not explain his art.
An Artist (n.) is, like every true prophet, the unknowing mouthpiece of his era's psychic secrets: he thinks he is speaking, but the spirit of the age is feeding him his lines.
The Artist (n.) claims paternity of his characters to bolster his ego against the suspicion that he is the victim of a creative urge welling from the unconscious — lesser men have more need of greatness.
The Artist (n.) often cannot think at all, Jung found: musicians and painters never intentionally use their brains, which go on working by themselves.