My Dive into the Icarus Story
So, I didn't actually grab a specific "book" titled The Fall of Icarus right off the bat. It was more like I started tumbling down the rabbit hole of the myth itself. You know how it goes. You read one version, then another, then you see some paintings. It’s a bit like when I was trying to figure out how to fix my leaky faucet last year. Started with a YouTube video, ended up understanding the entire municipal water system of my town. Almost.
Anyway, Icarus. The dude who flew too close to the sun. We all know the basics. His old man, Daedalus, was this genius inventor, right? Made these wings outta feathers and wax. Told Icarus, "Don't fly too low, the sea spray will get your wings wet. Don't fly too high, the sun will melt the wax." Simple instructions, really.
My first step was just re-reading the basic myth. I found a few versions online, then I remembered I had this old, dusty book of Greek myths on my shelf. Probably hadn't opened it since high school. The pages were yellow, smelled a bit funny, but the story was there, clear as day.
Then I started thinking about it, not just as a story, but, like, what was going on in Icarus's head? Was he just a dumb kid being reckless? Or was there something more to it, something about the sheer joy of it all? That’s where my "practice" really began. I wasn’t just consuming; I was mulling it over while I was doing other stuff. Washing dishes, walking the dog, waiting for the kettle to boil. That kind of thing.
I remember one afternoon, I was trying to assemble this flat-pack bookshelf. The instructions were a nightmare, little pictures, arrows going everywhere, parts that looked identical but weren't. Talk about frustration! And I thought, Daedalus gave Icarus, what, two main instructions? And he still messed it up. Maybe the thrill of flying, that feeling of pure freedom, was just too much. I kind of get it. Sometimes when you get a little taste of something amazing, or something new and exciting, the warnings just fade into the background noise.
My "practice" wasn't about writing an essay or anything formal. It was more about letting the story simmer in my mind. I even tried to find different artistic interpretations. Paintings, poems, you name it. It's wild how many different takes there are. Some make Icarus look like a complete fool, others make him look, I don't know, incredibly ambitious? Tragic, for sure, no matter how you slice it.
- I'd look at Bruegel's painting, "Landscape with the Fall of Icarus," where Icarus is just these tiny legs disappearing into the sea, and everyone else – the farmer, the shepherd – is just getting on with their day. That hit me hard. Like, big personal tragedies happen, and the world just keeps on spinning for everyone else.
- Then I'd read some poem, can't remember by who exactly, that made him out to be a kind of hero for daring to try, for pushing the limits, even if he failed spectacularly.
It’s funny, this whole thing started because I was bored one evening, and then it became this little mental exercise, a way to explore an old story in a new light. I didn’t come to any grand conclusions, like I'd solved the mystery of Icarus or anything. But it made me think a lot about risk, and ambition, and listening to advice (or, you know, not listening). My kid, for example, I tell him not to run with sticky hands towards the new sofa, pretty clear instruction, right? But sometimes, that glint of rebellion, or just pure unadulterated excitement, takes over. Kids are basically tiny Icaruses half the time, testing their wings, sometimes getting a bit singed.
So, yeah, my engagement with "The Fall of Icarus" wasn't about reading one definitive book with that exact title from cover to cover. It was more like a journey through the idea itself, the myth. I poked around, thought about it, connected it to random stuff in my life. No wax wings were involved in my process, thankfully, and no dramatic plunges into the Aegean. Just a lot of coffee and some quiet contemplation. It's not like I'm an expert now, not at all, but I feel like I get the story a bit more, on a more personal level. It’s more than just a myth you hear about; it's a bit of a mirror, you know? Makes you think.
