“Notes on Marie Menken” is true to its title, but it misses the point.

We don’t so much need notes on this stunning but little-known avant-garde filmmaker as much as we need a chance to submerge ourselves in her work. Just as director Martina Kudlácek observes the unearthing of discarded, rusty, all-but-destroyed works of Menken’s cataloge, many viewers who make their way to this documentary will no doubt similarly be discovering an artist they have rarely heard about, and never experienced.

That’s why the amount of talking in “Notes,” which makes its American theatrical premiere tonight at Anthology Film Archives — often about Menken (1909–70), but also about the history of New York’s art scene — is an unfortunate distraction; nothing can really be said about Ms. Menken until her magic has been seen and absorbed. (Thankfully, Anthology will screen 10 of Menken’s films on February 17 and another eight on February 18. The 18 films total 140 minutes on the screen.)

Twenty minutes pass in “Notes” before the viewer is offered an extended clip of one of Menken’s works, a Spain-bound montage from 1961 called “Arabesque for Kenneth Anger.” Comprised of shaky, handheld camerawork that seems to pan, zoom, and lunge at the world around it, Menken draws in her surroundings as if gasping for air. We see Spanish architecture swirl past, high arches and painted walls floating by, birds soaring past the buildings’ peaks, bursts of light breaking through the ceiling into the shadows below, and the water of a fountain shooting up into the heavens. As a film it lasts only four minutes, but they are all we need to appreciate the way Menken saw the world — as something constantly moving and breathing, as something fragile, imposing, and alive.

Menken took the minutiae of the commonplace and embraced, exaggerated, augmented, and rendered it anew We can learn more about her as an artist from this one clip than we ever could from a seminar attempting to explain her style.

The shortfall of “Notes” is that we are mostly experiencing just that — a discussion of a career. While it will no doubt stand as a work of pure fascination for Menken’s longtime fans, it will leave most newcomers hungry to see, experience, and understand even more of the late artist’s work. But then again, maybe that’s not an entirely bad thing.

Ms. Kudlácek does reveal three astonishing key details of Menken’s life, which began in Lithuania and ended in Brooklyn 61 years later. In one segment, the director turns her attention to the late, great Stan Brakhage — a personality even avant-garde novices will surely know — who points to Menken as his key, essential inspiration. In another, we discover that Menken’s turbulent relationship with her husband, Willard Maas, became the inspiration for the turbulent, alcohol-fueled characters in Edward Albee’s play “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”

And in one sequence, as a rusty tin is opened, the film is stretched out, and the garbled, nearly worn-through images crackle to life, we are surprised to find ourselves atop a New York building in the 1960s at sunset, watching a blurry Andy Warhol come into focus. Menken was the one who helped teach Warhol how to operate a camera, becoming a regular force of inspiration in his life. When he later used his skills to create “Chelsea Girls,” Menken had one of the most prominent parts, enjoying the beginning of an unexpected acting career late in her life.

Yet even during this Warhol segment, we see the flaws in Ms. Kudlácek’s documentary. That rooftop-bound archival footage is allowed to play on for far too long, and it’s followed by a long, off-topic sequence in which Warhol’s collaborator, Gerard Malanga, recalls the larger arts scene of 1960s New York.

Again, this would not be that big a flaw if we were talking about another subject. Given the sources with whom Ms. Kudlácek spoke — artists such as Jonas Mekas, Alfred Leslie, and Peter Kubelka — it makes sense that the documentary would lean heavily on the periods of their collaboration with Menken. But often these digressions occupy valuable minutes that could have been used better in discussing Menkel’s early years, or her transition to influential avant-garde filmmaker from abstract painter.

Another silent film work by Menken involves a group of monks who spend their days sleeping in caves, praying, eating, and digging graves. Menken watches them — as they walk, as they shovel — and evokes a tone of calm contemplation by focusing so intently on the simple mechanics of their existence. After seeing such experiments, we become far more curious about Menken’s demeanor, her fascination with light, and her methods as a filmmaker. Our imagination is awakened and now we crave more information about the woman who has provoked our interest. These are the moments that make “Notes on Marie Menken” a stirring resurrection of a fascinating figure — nothing short of mandatory viewing for avant-garde aficionados. We could use more of them.

At Anthology Film Archives through February 18 (32 Second Ave., between 1st and 2nd streets, 212-505-5181).