Recreating (and advancing) pk’s censored domains: Macroinformation.org &
Knatz.com / Personal / Stories / Themes / Dreams /
@ K. 2004 10 14
Everyone’s dreams are private. Anyone’s dream in incommunicable. How well does a person’s dream communicate with the person? (Is it a dream’s business to communicate in the first place?) (I adore Crick’s theory that dreams randomize the brain’s contents, wiping memory back to default settings.) (If I’ve phrased Crick’s theory at all accurately: whatever he said is great, but I also like how I‘ve remembered and phrased it.)
Sometimes some people try to “tell” their dreams. Sometimes some people trust some people’s reports. (Too often some authority interprets your dream for you: I, the expert, understand you; you of course do not understand yourself!)
What I am about to say is a vanity (but so what? what isn’t?) I’m sure lots of people dream of movies, but I’ve never heard of anyone but me who has dreamed original movies by real artists!
The dreams I’m about to report where from the 1960s and 1970s. Early in the ’60s I dreamed an original Eisenstein movie: a good movie than Sergei Eisenstein himself never made. I swear: it truly was in his style.
Eisenstein Dream Movie
I don’t know what to say about the “imagined” Eisenstein movie other than that I had it. If you know Eisenstein’s style, you may be able to picture something appropriate; if you don’t you won’t (and won’t be reading this!) It was gorgeous. It was dramatic. It was very Russian. It was in black and white, small screen. It used montage with cartoon simplicity to great dramatic effect. There was war. There was Nicholai Cherkosof. What else can I say? especially all these decades later? other than to say that I am proud that I had it, and I’m proud to remember than I had it!
Eisenstein, Ivan the Terrible
Fellini Dream Movie
The Fellini dream came to me roughly a decade later. The ’60s were I suppose my main movie period: not yet wrapped up in deschooling society, not yet quite forced to pay all of my own bills (not that I ever have paid all of my own bills, or been able to: the fate of an unpopular (would-be) reformer), but my movies still lived with me since: the intensity of the association diminishing only gradually. So I was still very big on Fellini in the early to middle 1970s even though I was seeing much less (and what he was doing was never again to match his output of the 1950s and early 1960s: I Vitelloni, La Strada, Cabiria … to 8 1/2.
from 8 1/2
The Fellini dream I can describe to some extent because what I dreamed was not really Fellini-like. I remain satisfied that my dream had the look of a Fellini opus — largely Italian but also international in caste; supreme sensitivity to the human face, especially female, distinct sensitivity to the human body, especially female; composition the Renaissance — or any modern — would be proud of … But my Fellini movie introduced innovations the master, Il Poeta, has not made public: my dream movie was walked through, not sat through. The audience went to a gallery. The walls of the gallery formed a series of screens on which the images displayed. The audience walked through the rooms, the order predetermined, but the pace up to the individual. Cast of the movie attended the movie with the audience, and one could meet the actors among the audience, talk to them …
I would date the dream around early 1974, late 1973: when I had had the ghastly experience of working for Circle Gallery in its huge white elephant on 63rd and Third. Occupying the cursed space that New York’s Le Drugstore had failed in, the gallery took up nearly the length of the block and went deep eastward. Partitions multiplied the wall space exponentially. One could take two hours to walk through it: like a goddamned museum.
MOMA had introduced me to holograms in 1970, but it wasn’t until mid-1974 that I met Selwin Lissack and pictured Dali illusions suspended in open public spaces. (Dali / Lissack had projected a hologram of a disembodied hand, female and elegant, holding a spew of diamonds above the sidewalk of SE 57th Street, right in front of Tiffany’s window. The Times reported a woman trying to snatch the ghost diamonds from the air. Failing, she tried to scatter the jewels via blows from her umbrella. Failing there likewise she stalked off, assuring all present that it was the work of the devil.) (I’m sure Selwin loved that.) (Selwin was a good at herbs and old remedies as he was at the super-new art of holography.) Anyway, I don’t remember any life sized holograms in my Fellini movie: had I dreamed the dream a year later, I bet there would have been.
The audience moved through the movie at its own pace. And Fellini himself was in the final room: meet the artists duing the movie: and meet the genius after the movie’s credits concluded.
So my Fellini movie was also like a world premier.
I can’t tell you the plot. I can’t tell you the cast. I can say that both I and Fellini were in the dream though neither of us were in the movie.
Foreign movies? Man, foreign dreams!
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