“the torch” #22 – in the crux: poetry in a movie

The artist’s mind is an exclave of reason and the rules of utility, and as such it is a liberated combat zone where the fight is fought between the hidden and the obvious as a stratagem of winning-over. Truly anyone is free to do it, though not everyone may be real able to, in equal measure at least. What is poetic in whichever medium – it is a semblance of some higher order; some might even dare to call it a part of the divine. In any case, it is a quality most elusive and rare, to be attained only by the talented few, with luck and patience and the right skills without doubt. So when we are being treated to its cinematic equivalent, we will hardly suffer any substitute for wonder, want to be spared of such embarrassment but catch the real thing only, a glimpse of truth unveiled. One could argue, then, that our just too common tedium total of failed attempts at art-house glory should by now have done the job of getting us to the point where enough is way too much already and we’ve simply had it, dead-alive and little else?
Well, alternatively, you might want to think the ultimate best still possible, if worth aspiring to no matter what – and join that biweekly debate on all things impossible (or so), aka: The Torch, right here.

(pic©mo)