The great Polish film director Krzysztof Zanussi visited Andrei Tarkovsky on his deathbed. Zanussi, a good friend, was already well-known then; Tarkovsky understood that people would come to Zanussi in search of information about him. “Tell them,” he whispered to Zanussi, “that I am a sinner”:
"We met the very last time in December, nearly two weeks before his death, once
again in Paris. He had undergone drug treatment and was appallingly thin and
emaciated, but he continued to speak of the future, of what he would film. And
when I listened to him it seemed to me that indeed a moment had come when it was
unknown whether the treatment would kill him or he would overcome the
illness.
He described the films he had failed to make, the Hoffmaniana. It was his old screenplay. Most of all he spoke about the picture focused on the figure of St Antony of Padova. And it seemed to me that the specific historical saint did not concern him particularly, he was much more interested in the notion of sanctity, the tragedy of a conflict between flesh and spirit in man. He said a word which struck me, the word "sinner" in respect to himself. Hardly anyone uses the word today, especially of one's own free will, and he related the word to himself, admitting the imperfection of his actions, and there was something eschatological about it. Nevertheless, I felt a deep hope that he would come through, because he said the word "sinner" an instant after both of us had agreed that modern man's most terrible sin was vanity, a feeling of conceit arising from the illusion that he was independent, a master of his fate, and nothing threatened him. And only illness enabled him to see the fragile nature of our undertakings, our decisions, our conflicts, and our policies which from this vantage point lost their meaning."
He described the films he had failed to make, the Hoffmaniana. It was his old screenplay. Most of all he spoke about the picture focused on the figure of St Antony of Padova. And it seemed to me that the specific historical saint did not concern him particularly, he was much more interested in the notion of sanctity, the tragedy of a conflict between flesh and spirit in man. He said a word which struck me, the word "sinner" in respect to himself. Hardly anyone uses the word today, especially of one's own free will, and he related the word to himself, admitting the imperfection of his actions, and there was something eschatological about it. Nevertheless, I felt a deep hope that he would come through, because he said the word "sinner" an instant after both of us had agreed that modern man's most terrible sin was vanity, a feeling of conceit arising from the illusion that he was independent, a master of his fate, and nothing threatened him. And only illness enabled him to see the fragile nature of our undertakings, our decisions, our conflicts, and our policies which from this vantage point lost their meaning."
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Henryk Gorecki - Symphony No. 3 "Sorrowful Songs" - Lento e Largo.
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