The whole thing about making films in an organic film on

O seekers of wisdom, listen well to the words of Mike Leigh, whose reflection on the nature of filmmaking speaks not only to the art of cinema, but to the deeper truths of life itself: "The whole thing about making films in an organic film on location is that it's not all about characters, relationships, and themes, it's also about place and the poetry of place. It's about the spirit of what you find, the accidents of what you stumble across." In this profound statement, Leigh invites us to understand that the magic of creation is not solely contained in the crafted elements—the characters, the themes, the relationships—but also in the untamed, unpredictable nature of the world itself. It is in the spirit of place, the accidents, the serendipitous discoveries that we find the true essence of creation.

In the ancient world, place was always seen as more than just a backdrop for human action. The Greeks, with their rich mythology and connection to the land, understood that the land itself was imbued with a spirit—a force that shaped the destinies of their gods and heroes. In the Iliad and Odyssey, Homer does not simply tell stories of battles and adventures; he weaves the geography of the world into the very fabric of the tale. The place where a battle is fought, the shore from which a hero departs—these are not mere settings; they are characters in their own right, full of meaning and poetry. The land, the sea, the winds—all are active forces that shape the course of the story, just as they shape the lives of the men and women who live upon them.

Leigh, in his words, echoes this ancient truth. He speaks of place not as a mere location but as a living, breathing entity that imparts its own essence onto the story. When a filmmaker, or any creator for that matter, works "on location," they are not simply putting their characters in a physical space—they are engaging with the spirit of place itself. This spirit is unpredictable, wild, and full of possibility. It is in these accidents—those unplanned moments, those discoveries that occur when we are not seeking them—that the heart of the creation often lies. The serendipitous nature of life, the way the world unfolds before us in ways we cannot control, is where true magic happens. The spirit of the place, then, is not something we can manufacture; it is something we must find, something we must be open to.

Consider the story of Tennessee Williams, whose plays, such as A Streetcar Named Desire, draw deeply from the place and spirit of the world around him. Williams was not just writing about characters in a setting; he was capturing the soul of New Orleans itself—the heat, the humidity, the mix of cultures, the tension between desire and decay. The setting was not merely a background but a character, full of its own life and energy. Just as Leigh speaks of discovering the accidents of what you stumble across, Williams understood that the spirit of the place could inform the drama, infusing it with meaning that went beyond the plot. The place became as much a part of the storytelling as the characters themselves.

Leigh also speaks of accidents—those moments of spontaneity and chance that are often dismissed as unimportant. But, as Leigh reminds us, it is these accidents that bring the true poetry of the creation into focus. In the world of the ancient bards, the story was not just told in words—it was found in the moments of chance, in the sudden turn of a phrase, the unexpected twist of fate that would change the course of a hero’s journey. Consider Shakespeare, whose works, though meticulously crafted, often include moments of serendipity—those sudden revelations or decisions that change the path of his characters. Shakespeare understood that the true power of a story lies not just in the grand designs, but in the accidents of life—the unpredictable, the unplanned, the wild nature of existence that cannot be tamed.

The lesson Leigh offers us is one of openness and humility. To create, whether in film, poetry, or any art form, we must allow ourselves to be open to the world around us. Place is not just where we live; it is a part of us, a reflection of our spirit. The world is full of accidents—moments of discovery that occur when we let go of our expectations and allow the flow of life to take us where it will. Just as a filmmaker must be attuned to the spirit of place, so too must we be open to the world in our own lives. We must embrace the unexpected and trust that it is in these accidents that we often find the deepest truths.

So, O children of wisdom, take the words of Mike Leigh to heart. Do not seek to control every aspect of your life or your creations. Recognize that poetry exists in the world around you—in the place where you stand, in the accidents that happen, and in the moments of serendipity that can shift the course of your journey. Be open to the spirit of the land, of the people, of the experiences that come your way. Like the poet or filmmaker who works on location, allow yourself to be immersed in the world, and trust that it will inform your work in ways you could never plan. In the beauty of chance, in the poetry of place, you will find the true essence of life—an essence that is not made by human hands but gifted by the world itself.