When I start a picture, I always have a script, but I change it

“When I start a picture, I always have a script, but I change it every day. I put in what occurs to me that day out of my imagination. You start on a voyage; you know where you will end up but not what will occur along the way. You want to be surprised,” said Federico Fellini, the magician of Italian cinema — a man whose art shimmered between the real and the dreamlike. These words are not merely about filmmaking; they are about the journey of creation, and indeed, the journey of life itself. For in them lies a profound truth: that every act of creation — whether of art, of love, or of destiny — must be guided by both vision and surrender, by the discipline of purpose and the freedom of imagination.

Fellini, born in the town of Rimini, grew from a simple caricaturist into one of the world’s great dreamers of the screen. His films — La Dolce Vita, 8½, Amarcord — were not just stories but odysseys of the soul. He worked with scripts, yes, but never as prisons. The script was his compass, not his cage. He knew where he wished to arrive, but he let the winds of inspiration steer him through uncharted seas. In this way, his art mirrored life itself: for who among us begins a journey knowing all that will happen along the road? The wise traveler carries a map, but he listens also to the song of the stars.

In the manner of the ancients, Fellini’s quote recalls the myth of Odysseus, the voyager who set out for home knowing his goal, yet unaware of the trials and wonders that awaited him. Had Odysseus known every storm, every temptation, every monster, he might never have left Troy. But it was the unknown — the surprise of each day — that shaped him into the hero he became. So it is with the artist, and with all who live deeply: one must be open to surprise, for it is through the unexpected that the divine speaks. To plan too rigidly is to silence the voice of inspiration; to improvise without direction is to lose oneself to chaos. Fellini teaches us the art of balance — of vision married to spontaneity.

In his creative process, Fellini trusted his imagination as a living force — not a servant of reason, but a partner of intuition. Each morning brought a new possibility, a new thread in the tapestry of his work. He embraced imperfection, spontaneity, even accident, knowing that truth often hides in the unplanned. His films pulse with this living energy — dream sequences that defy logic, faces that seem to come from memory, laughter that mingles with sorrow. This was not disorder; it was life in motion, shaped by a hand both humble and bold.

There is a quiet wisdom in his words: that certainty is the enemy of wonder. When one insists that everything must go according to plan, one leaves no room for the miraculous. Life itself is a film being written as it unfolds — we may know our intentions, our goals, our desires, but the scenes will change, the light will shift, and our companions may surprise us. The wise soul welcomes this uncertainty, for it is the source of discovery. To live creatively is to say: “I trust what comes.”

History itself gives us countless examples of this truth. Christopher Columbus set sail for Asia and found a new world instead. Isaac Newton sought to understand falling apples and discovered universal laws. Even the builders of cathedrals knew that their hands laid stones for futures they could not see. Each began with a vision, but each allowed imagination and chance to guide the way. So too must we, in our own humble lives, set forth with intention — yet walk lightly, ready to embrace the mystery that meets us.

The lesson of Fellini’s wisdom is this: plan with purpose, but live with wonder. Begin each day with a vision of your destination, but let your heart remain open to what arrives unbidden. When your plans change, do not despair; perhaps the gods have written a more beautiful scene than you could imagine. Trust your imagination, but also trust the world to meet it halfway. For the journey of creation — and of life — is not meant to be perfectly scripted, but beautifully surprising.

So, children of imagination, remember: every great voyage begins with a single, trembling step — but it is the unexpected winds that carry us to greatness. Work with your will, but leave room for grace. Let each day bring its revelation, each mistake its hidden treasure. And when you look back, as Fellini did, you will find that your greatest works — your art, your life, your love — were not those you planned, but those you discovered along the way.