To Feel. To Trust The Feeling. I

When You Die, You Are Extinguished. From Being You Will Be Transformed To Non-being. A God Does Not Necessarily Dwell Among Our Capricious Atoms.

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.

I Want To Confess As Best I Can, But My Heart Is Void. The Void Is A Mirror. I See My Face And Feel Loathing And Horror. My Indifference To Men Has Shut Me Out. I Live Now In A World Of Ghosts, A Prisoner In My Dreams.

I Think I Have Made Just One Picture That I Really Like.

The Film Medium Is Some Sort Of Magic. I Think Also It's A Magic That Every Frame Comes And Stands Still For A Fraction Of A Second And Then It Darkens. A Half Part Of The Time When You See A Picture You Sit In Complete Darkness. Isn't That Fascinating? That Is Magic.