http://tiny.cc/manifesto-introduction
The Fall of Icarus is an oil painting finished around 1638 by Jacob Peeter Gowy
It speaks of a greek mythology tale, featuring two main figures:
Icarus, the son of Daedalus, and the father himself, who was an architect and inventor of the labyrinth - a complex structure that was said to be impossible to leave, once entered.
The King of Crete, Minos, imprisoned in it them both.
To escape the doomed situation of being trapped in his own masterpiece, Daedalus crafted wings made out of feathers and wax that were meant to help them escape.
Before they began their journey, the father warned Icarus to not fly too close to the sun, otherwise the wax would melt and he would be swallowed by the ocean below him.
(This also illustrates the greek misconception of the time about how the world worked, because the higher you get, the colder it is, as there's a decrease in atmospheric pressure and the density of air. But that's not the point)
The point is, Icarus listens not. And his father end up a bypasser, watching his son dance in the middle of the sky, knowing that physically he cannot do anything about it, as it's impossible for the wings to yeld the weight of two people.
Thereby, Daedalus is forced to watch his son perform and it is by the fear reflecting in his loved one's eyes that he realizes it's too late to save him.
In the end, Icarus inevitably falls.
_________________________________________
This story is one of my favourite ones, as it can be applied to real life - because it is with those defective wings we often try to achieve our biggest dreams.
We are given tools that are too flawed and unfit to carry us, and yet we try.
Now, maybe it was the sense of immortality Icarus must've felt as he failed to calculate just how close he was to disaster,
or perhaps he simply did not care what would become of him once he reached his desire of touching the sun.
And sometimes in life, it is the same fragile wings you try so vigorously to protect that end up becoming meaningless when it seems like you finally have it all in the palm of your hand, when you can see the green light at the other side of the deck.
Maybe, just maybe, then you don't mind the way the feathers turn into dust among burning alcohol and acid.
When you feel the peace hiding in the chaos of scattered feathers and unspoken words.
And only then it hits you - the unfair proximity of a dream.
Like moths that don't stop flying even when their wings fray and their bodies falter.
chasing the light, because they don't know how to do anything else.
I believe in the rightfulness of their action, because what is the point of flying if not to get where you want to?
How can you say "you tried" when the light was still burning and your wings still moved?
I believe there's a point to all this.
a beauty hidden in the stupidity and desire to rather fall than fly away safely without getting burned
a strange grace in the ache — in wanting the fire, even if it blazes and sears
and yes, those people must have something in common with maybe addicts and fools and especially men made out of hubris above all else,
but perhaps it is us that are too quick to judge Icarus because we simply can't imagine the giddiness he must've felt the first time he flew.
The thrill of something he's managed to go his whole life without knowing and the sheer ache of anticipation.
I think that in reality, not much tragedy is there in having lived to the fullest before dying.
Oscar Wilde said:
"Never regret thy fall,
O Icarus of the fearless flight,
For the greatest tragedy of them all
Is never to feel the burning light"
And that is why, Icarus is not just a sob story, but the perfect incarnation of freedom
and his story is one of life, not death.