Realism is a bad word. In a sense everything is realistic. I see no line between the imaginary and the real.
The greatest danger for artists is total freedom.
Don’t forget that costumes, like dreams, are symbolic communication. Dreams teach us that a language for everything exists – for every object, every color worn, every clothing detail. Hence, costumes provide an aesthetic objectification that helps to tell the character’s story.
Marriage, if it is to survive, must be treated as the beginning, not as the happy ending.
When the most important times are occurring, we don’t even recognize them or notice. We are just busy living our lives. Only looking back do we know what was a great moment in our lives.
We can all pretend to be cynical and scheming, but when we’re faced with purity and innocence, the cynical mask drops off.
Don’t tell me what I’m doing; I don’t want to know.
A good opening and a good ending make for a good film provided they come close together.
Reality! But what does this word mean? Each has his own reality. I draw upon my personal reality upon the dark side of myself, my unconscious.
Peellaert’s comic strips were the literature of intelligence, imagination and romanticism.
A created thing is never invented and it is never true: it is always and ever itself.
An artist is a provincial who finds himself somewhere between a physical reality and a metaphysical one. It’s this in-between that I’m calling a province, this frontier country between the tangible world and the intangible one. That is the realm of the artist.
I even see the cinema itself as a woman, with its alternation of light and darkness, of appearing and disappearing images.
Nietzsche claimed that his genius was in his nostrils and I think that is a very excellent place for it to be.
Censorship is advertising paid by the government.
Hype is the awkward and desperate attempt to convince journalists that what you’ve made is worth the misery of having to review it.
Objects and their functions no longer had any significance. All I perceived was perception itself, the hell of forms and figures devoid of human emotion and detached from the reality of my unreal environment. I was an instrument in a virtual world that constantly renewed its own meaningless image in a living world that was itself perceived outside of nature. And since the appearance of things was no longer definitive but limitless, this paradisiacal awareness freed me from the reality external to myself. The fire and the rose, as it were, became one.
Happiness is simply a temporary condition that proceeds unhappiness. Fortunately for us, it works the other way around as well. But it’s all a part of the carnival, isn’t it?
I’m a liar, but an honest one. People reproach me for not always telling the same story in the same way. But this happens because I’ve invented the whole tale from the start and it seems boring to me and unkind to other people to repeat myself.
One doesn’t remember one’s own life chronologically, the way it happened, what was most important, or even what seemed most important. We are not in control of our memories. One doesn’t own one’s memories. One is owned by them.
Loneliness is a heavy burden, but i’d rather be alone than make compromises.