if your approach to film criticism consists only of talking about the movie you just watched, youre doing it wrong.
me reading a portion of The Idiot. this section has the hero, Prince Myshkin, speculating about his epilepsy. it’s something of an autobiographical passage, because Dostoevsky himself had the same condition.
|—||Gilles Deleuze & Feliz Guattari, What is Philosophy? (via heteroglossia)|
i want to make ugly art
I first saw La Jetée in a film history course at the University of British Columbia, in the early 1970s…I can’t remember another single work of art ever having had that immediate and powerful an impact, which of course makes the experience quite impossible to describe…I left the lecture hall where it had been screened in an altered state, profoundly alone. I do know that I knew immediately that my sense of what science fiction could be had been permanently altered.
Carrying the memory of that screening’s intensity for a decade after has become a touchstone for me. What would have happened had I been able to rewind? Had been able to rent or otherwise access a copy? It was as though I had witnessed a Mystery, and I could only remember that when something finally moved – and I realised that I had been breathlessly watching a sequence of still images – I very nearly screamed.
|—||William Gibson, novelist in 'Thrilling and prophetic': why film-maker Chris Marker's radical images influenced so many artists, The Guardian, 16.04.14. (via ericrohmer)|
Marquee Moon - Television
" I’m 87 years old…I only eat so I can smoke and stay alive.. The only fear I have is how long consciousness is gonna hang on after my body goes. I just hope there’s nothing. Like there was before I was born. I’m not really into religion, they’re all macrocosms of the ego. When man began to think he was a separate person with a separate soul, it created a violent situation.
The void, the concept of nothingness, is terrifying to most people on the planet. And I get anxiety attacks myself. I know the fear of that void. You have to learn to die before you die. You give up, surrender to the void, to nothingness.
Anybody else you’ve interviewed bring these things up? Hang on, I gotta take this call….. Hey, brother. That’s great, man. Yeah, I’m being interviewed… We’re talking about nothing. I’ve got him well-steeped in nothing right now. He’s stopped asking questions.”
- HARRY DEAN STANTON
Giacometti’s Sketch for ‘Le Chariot’ Sculpture, c1950, Ernst Scheidegger
I have a lot of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don’t worry. It’s all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don’t know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky ways of cloudy innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere, or one universal self. Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes through everything, is one thing. It’s a dream already ended. There’s nothing from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the one vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born.
The world you see is just a movie in your mind.
|—||Jack Kerouac, excerpt from Kerouac’s letter to his ex-wife (via arpeggia)|
― James McNeill Whistler