The Fall of Icarus

A post-flight dream

After finally arriving home last night after the mad-rush trip to San Antonio and back, I fell into an exhausted sleep, my cracked tooth still firmly embedded in my jaw. My dentist (yes, I made it back in time - with 90 seconds to spare, in fact), after taking another x-ray and assessing the risks of causing further damage by digging around in my decaying mandible decided to err on the side of caution and refer me to a surgical specialist in Calgary. This will take a little time to organize, so for now, I still have all my teeth.

I have no idea why, but after all that, I had several dreams in a row about Icarus and how he and his father (Daedalus) escaped from Crete (I think it was Crete?) by way of a couple of pairs of makeshift wings.

According to the legend, the wings were made of feathers and beeswax and must have been pretty effective because both escapees took off and flew with grace and ease above the sea. Icarus was having a little too much fun and flew higher and higher.

Daedalus yelled out a warning, “Don’t get too close to the sun!”

Alas, like most of us when we are feeling young and invincible, Icarus paid no attention to the fatherly advice. Mesmerized by the dazzling sun, he rose higher and higher until the heat melted the beeswax and his wings disintegrated. He flapped his useless, naked arms and plummeted into the sea.

His father wept, hung up his own wings, and promised never to fly again.

In my dreams last night, I asked my father why he had painted a picture I remember vividly (sometime between 1965-71?). It was a large oil (4’X5’?), abstract (unusual for my father who tended to paint in a representational style), with deep, rich colours in the spray of angular feathers radiating in a sort of spiral from a glowing center. I remember seeing it as a child and, baffled, asking, “What is that supposed to be?”

That was the first time I heard the story of Icarus and his hubris. I remember longing to fly myself and wondering if it would be possible to soar so high that my wingtips might brush the sun.

Last night, Dream Dad didn’t answer my questions about what had inspired him to paint that picture so many years ago. He just said, “You should do a comic about Icarus.”

So, I did.