Why do you always have to be so mischievous?
It may also be the time to solve the problem.
Just shut up
But what are you searching for?
I'm hungry. I have to go to the store.
How about the writing? How's it going?
It's a blank state.
But, how?
After all that time I left you writing yesterday night?
Please, stop it.
Do I need to stop? Actually it all started with you.
When is this garbage from?
Hey, can you hear me?
Yes... I don't know.
I've started reading "White nights" by Dostoevskij again, you know?
And there I found a line that deeply affected me.
He says...
"Loneliness and insolence stimulate imagination"
Sounds familiar, doesn't it?
Anyway, it's getting late. I have to go.
What are you doing?
I was reading, I suppose.
But above all, I was wondering if you still believed to be able to be free.
What have you read?
What have I read...
This insolence of yours...
My insolence?
This is the result of my creativity, is the only thing I need.
Creativity.
And where is this creativity now?
How many years have passed since your last work with that director?
What was his name?
You see? You don't even remember it.
Of course, it has been two wonderful years.
It was a success, of course. But since then?
Look at you...
All the money you've earned are going to finish soon, and you know very well that there's no turning back.
Art can never fully join with life Cinema is a combination of illusions.
What makes you hold on? Illusions, as always.
It's the same with love, isn't it?
Then why don't you ask yourself...
do I...
really love art...
or just the idea of it?
- Cheers to you, guys! - Cheers!
It has been a long time since we last saw each other...
...visit the new contemporary art museum. - Oh, did you go then?
Are you aware of how far did you get? You can't keep pretending.
- The main work was a shit, guys. - A shit? - A shit!
You're absolutely right.
I'm here for a reason. And what if it's YOUR condition the cause of all harm?
...but if you think about it, Artist's shit does exist...
Your head is like a library.
You think that these pages represents your ideas, your imagination...
...and Duchamp's Urinal too... ...and then it became a master piece...
Well, I started writing again...
Oh, is everything fine? - Everything's fine, isn't it?
Yes, everything's fine....
Everything's fine... Seriously?
Shut up.
Oh, no! Even if I did you would still hear me.
I'm here and I am far real than you might think
How dare you?
Excuse me?
How dare you judge me, my work...
my passion?
How I dare? Do you hear yourself?
Are you aware of the situation you're putting yourself into with your own hands?
You have no idea of what goes on in my head.
The only thing that I care about is searching for beauty in everything I do.
No rules, no charges, nothing at all!
I know perfectly what's going on in your head!
I know when you wake up, what you eat, and what's on your mind just before bed.
Stop pretending you don't know,
quit your whining forgetting all your failures while you try to...
What do you want to be now?
A puppet in the hands of someone else's ambition?
All right. We can do that.
But you have to choose.
- You're the only one who has this chance - You...
Exactly.
I keep fixating on the real expression of myself...
How dare I make such an assumption?
I refuse my relationship with success, living my good loneliness...
I embrace memory...
I kiss my pen and forget about all this gray, but... now it's here...
It's me.
Now I can express my drama and stop languishing in it's outlines,
naked in front of my fears, so big...
that I couldn't even seize the simplest inspiration any longer.
My fears are about losing control and truth.
If this is art, there's no way to know.
If the expression of myself will be authentic I don't really care about this.
Here I am. Finally deprived of ideological chains, I don't wonder anymore what were my choices in the past.
I can see a beginning.
I can fly.