I find what I thought when I look at what I have written. I know why I write: I have an indomitable urge, as if a voice dictated to me and then the text engenders itself. I should like to know the center… the voice. It may be God’s.
“There existed at least for a time, and that time lasted for some years in New York City, a kind of constant contact between us. One might almost — almost — venture to call it a sense of being united in some way, probably by the conviction that there should be good films. Preferably, films so good they hadn’t been made yet. That the intellectual space open to film had not entirely been preempted.”
Hollis Frampton