October 29, 2009
I wished it was the end, i wished it was already done. But not, the final sprint is still ahead. Why it was so difficult to make this film. Why it was not like the others, a simple joy of creation. Instead - depression, grief, downs and ups, end of life and end of a love. Being into someone else skin, trying to walk in other person shoes… It was a mistake, a big mistake. But how I could know what a maelstrom i was entering into when I started all this, how? At the beginning, it was white. Snow. Clean, and a promising challenge. It ended being obsessed. Into being someone else…
At least there are the friends. Amazing friends… She wrote me today:
Somehow it’ll be strange to not have you around…
Kisses and a smile for you! I’ll think of you. Maybe there will be a storm…
Here comes the sun.
October 29, 2009
Fuck man… The film I’m doing now really sucks. What a useless bunch of images, emotions and grief…Who wants to know about the grief anyway? Who wants to know about the psychology, psychonalisis, the history of the cinema, the joy, the love. Give them some material to laugh at, some good music, and that’s it. The public will clap. Clap-clap! Bravo! Very nice, very nice! Why I started, why I did this film!
October 29, 2009
I must not fear.
Fear is the mind killer.
Fear is the little death, that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
Then I will turn my inner eye to see its path.
‘Cos where the fear has gone through there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
October 19, 2009
Cutting. Editing. Last few months seems to be under the sign of the scisors. Never ends. 1 frame there. Another here. I started to see even 1 frame pictures. And when there is something there, it bugs me, and makes me crazy.
I had 3 days out of the film. Went to the festival. Women…Nothing, there were just faces, voices. I felt well at the beginning. Then the last night, the dogs came. It was the first time without her. It was painfull. My hands were trembling. She said - can I touch Your face. There was no face. Just a meatball of pain, and memories. I cried all the way back… It was cold. No ropes arround.
October 14, 2009
The past is a tabula rasa, said Henri Cartier Bresson, but it usually comes back, like a burp.
And I miss her.
She is the mystic in my marrow. She always understood more than my self-reverant mind would allow. She gave unconditionally. She transcended barriers of bone and flesh I won’t understand in this life. She was too powerful to capture in a picture. She was completely irreverent and she would change the barometer in a room just being there.
October 8, 2009
In the cinema, there is a constant dichotomy between the sound and the image. When, and why…What is more important. And how the sound, or the silence help the film. I believe, that the sound can tell a story. But not only this - i believe that the silence can tell the story even better. And this is not without the help of the image. If someone tells me that he can do a film, story, without thinking from the beginning to the end about the love story of the image and the sound - aargh!!!!, what a nonsense! I start my films with the sound. The noise, the music, is the first, it is more important than the script. It is the mood and the feeling - and the feeling is everything. The rest is just a literature. And a book. The text is also a sound, it is not words. It is rhythm, syllables and suprasegmentals, vowels, hired not to narrate, but to evoke the rhythm.
What i hate in the short films, and in the animation particularly, is the total lack of literature, which is substituted with a very primitive story telling, like those anecdotes arround the table in the late afternoon. But without the tea and the bisquits…
