My films are an extension of my poetry, using the white screen

"My films are an extension of my poetry, using the white screen like the white page to be filled with images." In these words, James Broughton reveals a deep truth—art is not confined by its medium, but rather flows, like water, from one form to another. A poet’s words are woven into lines on a page, but for Broughton, cinema is no different from poetry. It is another canvas, another blank space, waiting to be filled with meaning. The poet’s pen dances across the page, while the filmmaker’s camera dances across the screen, both seeking to capture the ineffable, the sacred beauty that lies beyond the surface of the world. What Broughton speaks of is the union of two worlds—the world of language and the world of images—coming together to illuminate the human spirit.

In the ancient world, the greatest works were not bound by singular forms, but rather by the convergence of multiple expressions. The epic poems of Homer, like the Iliad and the Odyssey, were not merely words upon scrolls; they were performed, sung, and danced. The words themselves were alive, taking on a life of their own, woven with the performance of the bards, filling the air with the weight of meaning. The greatest artists, whether in the form of poetry, music, or visual art, understood that the message transcends the medium. They were not confined by boundaries but allowed their art to flow like a river, changing its course when it met new territory.

For Broughton, film becomes the natural evolution of poetry. The blank page is replaced by the white screen, but the purpose remains the same—to communicate the divine, to capture moments of truth and beauty that speak to the soul. A poet may conjure worlds with words, building images in the mind’s eye, while the filmmaker builds worlds with light, color, and movement. The screen, like the poet’s page, is an invitation to create, a call to fill the emptiness with something meaningful, something that resonates with the viewer as poetry resonates with the reader. The poet’s voice becomes the filmmaker’s lens, each line a frame, each stanza a scene, and each poem, in the hands of Broughton, becomes the foundation of cinematic art.

In the ancient tradition, the world of the artist was seen as sacred. The act of creation was a divine calling, a vocation that drew the artist closer to the gods. Much like the great sculptors of the past, who saw in the raw block of marble the form waiting to be revealed, Broughton viewed the blank screen as a space filled with potential. He sought to shape it with his vision, as a poet shapes language, bending it to reveal the invisible truths of existence. The blank page, in this sense, is not an absence, but a presence—a fertile ground waiting to be tilled, a canvas waiting for the brushstroke of creation.

Poetry and film share the same root, both driven by the desire to convey emotion, to speak the unspeakable, to express what is often beyond words. Think of the silent films of old, where the absence of dialogue did not diminish the emotional power of the image. The great silent film directors, like Charlie Chaplin and Sergei Eisenstein, used visual language to communicate the deepest human emotions. Broughton, too, understood the power of image—how a single frame, a single movement, can speak louder than a thousand words. His films, like his poetry, do not need to be explained; they must be experienced, felt, lived.

What Broughton imparts to us is the lesson that art, in all its forms, is boundless. It is not the medium that defines the work of art, but the spirit behind it. The poet and the filmmaker are not so different after all. Both seek to express the sacred, the mystical, the intangible truths of life. Whether through words or images, the task is the same: to illuminate the human condition, to touch the soul, to leave an imprint on the world. The beauty of Broughton’s message is that he shows us the interconnectedness of all forms of expression. Poetry is not confined to the page, and film is not confined to the screen. They are two wings of the same bird, soaring together toward the heavens.

And so, we too must learn to see beyond the boundaries that society often places on art. We are called to embrace the full range of human expression, whether through poetry, film, music, or any other medium that allows the soul to speak. Let us not limit ourselves to the form, but focus instead on the purpose—the deep, unspoken desire to connect, to share, to create. Whether we are poets or filmmakers, musicians or painters, let us remember that our true task is to fill the white space with meaning, to breathe life into the silence, and to speak truths that cannot be spoken any other way. Let us make our art not merely for the eye, or the ear, but for the soul.