Budapest and the Story
There, again I sat thinking about all the things, reasons, lives and histories of this city, of Budapest. On that thin, wobbling coffee table, my camera and a little book by Ishiguro. In that moment and to myself, I was consumed by people. The lives lost by war and the plights of those who remain. There, their forgiveness, contentment and simplicity biased my thinking and I began to think about myself and my occupation as someone who films.
My livelihood is unique to those close to me. I, with all my selfishness have chosen the shutters and pen as my occupation and my aspiration. Up until now, I’ve been extremely selfish with the stories I’ve chosen to tell. Actually, irritable and consumed by my craft that the easiness of the arts was lost within me. Often, deliberating too much over the style and my authorial intent. However, sitting here and veering in and out of myself I realized that like the people in this city, I must make an effort to be simple and thoughtful with my story telling; be grounded by all the insecurities and execute with ease. Be appropriate, place the scene, the emotions and story above myself, and to not be aware of myself. A filmmaker, not unlike an author should never be aware of himself in his work. Not to move the camera just for cleverness’ sake, to forget about the style and simply express. To be Budapest, beautiful without pretension, to be a filmmaker without the title.
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