The art of Anselm Kiefer has a taste of rust and dust and concrete and rubble and fire and steel and remains and signs and lime and white veils and chalk. It is an art of fallen angels because everyone who has wings falls. It is the art of a child who has war in his eyes but seeks incursions of cutting lights into the cracks, among the rubble. It is an art of landscapes to be crossed on a bike or on foot and then lie down to stare at the sky to bring it closer to the earth.

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An art that shares questions about existence, where, from where and why with myth. Anselm Kiefer's art is that of someone who is still on the road, of someone who doesn't stop because he doesn't feel he has arrived, of an artist-thinker who contemplates and includes failure as part of a process of building something great. Anselm Kiefer inhabits his art, which in turn inhabits it. His works are the manifestation of his vision of history and the world. And if his art and his life match perfectly, he will never have arrived as long as he is alive and as long as he is alive he will not stop artistically telling us about the world, the wounded and tortured one.

Wenders with a discreet, delicate and silent directorial gaze, whose narration meets and marries the same intellectual coherence of Kiefer, tells us the process that makes Anselm Kiefer Anselm Kiefer and how the curious gaze of the child Anselm and his light eyes are the only things to have remained unchanged and to make each of his works an ever new, monumental, very high story and therefore exposed to the risk of falling. Like those who have wings and fly, or at least try, to look at things from another perspective.