Artistic License Sneered Through The Thin Fabric.

We Make Each Other Alive; It Doesn’t Make A Difference If It Hurts.

Film As Dream, Film As Music. No Art Passes Our Conscience In The Way Film Does, And Goes Directly To Our Feelings, Deep Down Into The Dark Rooms Of Our Souls.

I Want Knowledge. Not Belief. Not Surmise. But Knowledge. I Want God To Put Out His Hand, Show His Face, Speak To Me.

I Want To Stop. I Want To Stay On Fårö, And Read The Books I Haven’t Read, Find Out Things I Haven’t Yet Found Out. I Want To Write Things I Haven’t Written. To Listen To Music, And Talk To My Neighbors. To Live Together With My Wife A Very Calm, Very Secure, Very Lazy Existence, For The Rest Of My Life.

No Other Art-medium–neither Painting Nor Poetry–can Communicate The Specific Quality Of The Dream As Well As The Film Can. When The Lights Go Down In The Cinema And This White Shining Point Opens Up For Us, Our Gaze Stops Flitting Hither And Thither, Settles And Becomes Quite Steady. We Just Sit There, Letting The Images Flow Out Over Us. Our Will Ceases To Function. We Lose Our Ability To Sort Things Out And Fix Them In Their Proper Places. We're Drawn Into A Course Of Events–we're Participants In A Dream. And Manufacturing Dreams, That's A Juicy Business.