“I am not saying that an artist is not somewhat the same. He, too, is a witness. He just doesn’t exercise it so directly, so painlessly as a journalist. There is greater engagement because that which is witnessed is lived at more intense levels, more profound, sometimes mythical levels. One interprets, not just witnesses. But a creator, too,, is protected in times of tempest, in times of mourning. It all becomes ascetic, painless, through the interpretation needed for expressing it. Expression is a filter of a providential, protective sort, through which all passes: emotions, shocks, anger, fears, defeat, love, tenderness, ideologies, absorbing some of the pain. Other small dramas take up some of the slack: the drama of “how” to express, “how” to communicate.. Thus your problems with reality, with sentiments, the problem of being, after all, just a weak human creature and a small cog in society, suddenly turn into aesthetic problems. A sort of transference, delegating and burdening it all on to the back of another preoccupation, creates a new way of living it, an expressive way, which keeps you, to some degree, from being hurt. The sieve of expression redimensions the drama.
Protected by the myth of it. Being involved in realizing a dream. It is the same as a group working on a scientific problem and solving it or involved in geographical research and discovering a new continent, or the more common ideal of inventing and materializing a social form, working out a philosophical problem or creating a work of art. The myth of realization protects by involving you in something bigger than yourself; the aim,. the achievement of the goal.
We are educated to produce, to judge by the achieved, and this causes our unhappiness. If we stopped working for a goal and started working for the sake of work, we might get closer to some form of psychic health. Out functional education claims there is an achievement out there which needs to be reached, but of course there isn’t. All there is, is the trip of going out there. That is probably the main reason why I do not like to talk about the films I have already made, or about their after-life. It’s not so much the questions about the past, about the things I have put behind me, but I have a feeling that concern with my past work holds me back, keeps me from continuing the trip beyond the oasis. After all, what have I come here to do? I want to go on, keep going. You know yourself the meaning of the caravan….
I have often talked about the moment, usually occurring sometime during the final mixing, when I suddenly feel the film has become autonomous. Birth (sorry to sound banal and romantic!) has occurred, and although I may still be sitting there like an octopus with my arms extended across all the levers of the volume controls, in order to give the child its final push and life’s breath, giving it the heartbeat like Frankenstein sucking up stellar energy, and despite the fact that I still identify with it completely in all its molecules, I now feel it plopping out of me, inexorable and forever. The life-giving has now occurred.
Then there comes this moment of perception, of clarity;; you have done your best, have protected it, wanted it, guided it, controlled all its details, given it everything of yourself, programming its minutest elements, leaving nothing to chance, and suddenly it gets away from you. It is breathing on its own now. And from that moment on I feel no particular relation to it, no father-feeling. From this moment the life of this creative, this friend, this monster, this approximate form of life, interests me only little.
I would be lying to you if I said that I don’t care how well it does outside, whether it makes its way, meeting friends, or what. It pleases me of course if it arouses sympathies. I prefer for it to walk than to collapse. But I no longer feeling linked to it. This makes it hard for me to talk about it and to comment on it It seems vaguely indecent to me to do so. And st because I am the one who made it. I don’t have the feeling that I am really authorized to discuss it. Somehow at that point I feel I know it less well than others do.
The creative act needs restraints, requires a certain kind of bondage, of chains. These are the indispensable ingredients for the growth of the dream, the tensions, the utopia, and for making it possible to feel one’s way with secure intuition into other states of consciousness and into other dimensions.”
Federico Fellini: “The Cinema Seen as a Woman…”: An Interview on the Day “City of Women” Premiered in Rome
Gideon Bachmann and Federico Fellin