UPDATE
My very own Owen Gent’s Icarus N.1 has arrived with time to spare (for my birthday that is)!!!
This post has nothing to do with photography.
Something happened and I thought I would share it with you.
If you know me well, you know I’ve been going through a difficult time. You have to, because I’m an over sharer and I never shut up.
And if you know me REALLY well, you might know I have below image tattooed on my back:
This image used to be found on Led Zeppelin records, right in the centre of it. Just like this:
And if you know nothing about Icarus, this will explain:
“Icarus was a minor character in Greek Mythology, famous for not surviving the transition from boyhood to manhood. He was the son of Daedalus, an accomplished inventor, who produced an ingenious labyrinth on the island of Cnossus for Minos, the king of Crete. Even Daedalus could not find a way out of his maze. Sometime after building it, Daedalus fell into disfavor with the king of Crete and was condemned to live the rest of his life inside the labyrinth. Because he was his father’s son, Icarus faced the same fate.
Icarus and his father were trapped. Ever the inventor, Daedalus built wings of feathers and wax to escape. In theory, the wings would allow Daedalus and Icarus to fly above the labyrinth and off the island to freedom. Just before their flight, Daedalus warned his son to be careful. If he flew too low, his wings would get wet in the ocean; if he flew too high, the sun would melt the wax and the wings would disintegrate.
Icarus took off with all intentions of following his father’s sage advice. Away they flew, escaping the labyrinth. Like any adolescent boy, Icarus struggled with parental advice. He found flight awkward at first, but learned quickly and soon flew with the attributes of adolescence–his physical strength made up for his lack of coordination and balance. Also, like many adolescents, Icarus moved rapidly from ungainliness to false prowess. Drunk with his newfound power, he soared higher in the sky, ignoring his father’s warning. Daedalus looked around in flight and could not find his son. He peered down at the ocean and saw a small cluster of feathers floating on the water. Icarus had soared towards the sun, his wax melted and he fell to his death.“
– Source unknown.
So why do I have this thing for Icarus and his story? Am I a huge Led Zeppelin fan? Not really. But my father is.
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, he told me if he could ever get a tattoo, the Led Zeppelin Icarus would be it. But my father has psoriasis and getting a tattoo could trigger it and ruin the whole thing. So he never did get it.
That happened right after my teenage years. You know, when you hate your parents? It happened right after that, when you realise they’re the best friends you’ll ever have. My father is just 21 years older than me.
Hearing that after a few rebel years, being an ungrateful son, I went ahead and tattooed that on my back. It’s funny how at first he was a bit mad at me for getting HIS tattoo, but soon enough he understood why I did it. Now, some 20 years later, it’s faded and I’ve been planning on redoing it.
Anyway. Icarus has been with me for a long time and over the years, new meanings for it came to light.
Not long ago, a new one, which, believe it or not, I’m not gonna share!
And I’m not going to talk about all the meanings Icarus has in my life, but a few months ago, I saw an image by an artist called Owen Gent, from Bristol, England, and I thought to myself “Wow! I need this!”. I do like art, you see, but most of the stuff hanging on my walls is my own work – except from Marc’s picture hanging on my toilet, I bought it in an auction, by accident (ha ha) – and this particular art piece is the first I really, really thought I needed.
Yes, it’s the featured image on this blog post. Here it is again:
For reasons I’m not going to get into, I didn’t buy it. Owen was selling only 20 copies, 30cm x 30cm, and I even had the frame for it already. But I waited. And when I finally realised I had to go and get it, it was sold out.
I was devasted.
That was 5 days ago.
I took a screenshot of the store saying “sold out” and posted on my Instagram stories. And I tagged Owen.
And eight hours later (give him a break, timezones and all), Owen messaged me!
The conversation goes about how much his image means to me and how stupid I was for waiting for so long to order mine, yada, yada, yada. And I talk about how maybe I wouldn’t be able to afford a larger version if it would be too much more moneys, yada, yada, yada. He thanked me for my “kind words” and said he could run 40cm x 40cm editions if I was interested.
So today he messaged me:
Now, see it as you like. Owen is an artist and this is probably his most popular creation as not many others sold out quickly. How you read this is up to you.
I am right now in a moment in my life where I’m trying to be as positive as I can – and that’s something coming from someone who always expects the worst, so not to be disappointed – and Owen’s actions brightened my day in ways I can’t even put into words.
And my worries about not being able to afford it? Owen didn’t even increase the price for the larger size.
So now I have my own Owen Gent’s Icarus No.1, an image that touched me so much, on its way.
Why am I writing this? I wish I knew.
But we’re always complaining about things in life and how the universe is against us, or whatever. And today something good happened (other things happened too, some very good, some very bad) and I’m grateful for it.
THANK YOU OWEN!
Now I need a slightly bigger frame. And to remember not to fly too low nor too high.
FlyBy Bruno Spotorno Domingues
You held my hand and we hiked and conquered the mountain.
We conquered the top of this mountain and for a moment I felt we could do anything.
There, with our foreheads touching each other’s and our eyes closed.
I turn around to look at the horizon and all the things we are yet to achieve and I feel like I can fly.
That’s when you push me off the cliff.
But I can’t really fly, you know?
I’m just a boy. And boys can only fly in their dreams and imagination.
So instead I fall to my death and I stay dead.
I stay dead until you walk down the mountain and touch my skin and then I’m back alive.
And up the mountain we go again and I think to myself: “it’ll all be different now, better, but if it isn’t, this time I’ll fly”.
And you push me off the cliff.
And the boy still can’t fly.
