It is the strangeness
that attracts us to a fairy tale, for who among us doesn't
want to fly or become invisible... A part of us longs for magic to be real, for wishes to be granted. But, we grow up and the strangeness must remain in the story. What if something was so strange, so unimaginable in our reality that it must be true in another reality? What if we have chosen to believe the wrong reality? What if we, as artists, are to be about the business of remembering to change reality?
G.K. Chesterton said it this way,
"Every man has forgotten who he is. One may understand the cosmos, but never the ego; the self is more distant than any star. Thou shalt love the Lord thy God, but thou shalt not know thyself. We are all under the same mental calamity; we have all forgotten our names. We have all forgotten what we really are. All that we call common sense and rationality and practicality and positivism only means that for certain dead levels of our life we forget that we have forgotten. All that we call spirit and art and ecstasy only means that for one awful instant we remember that we forget."