![flying too close to the sun origin flying too close to the sun origin](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/27/91/79/2791797f55832ac7ba0144aff56f7919.jpg)
Lightbox photograph, dimensions variable. Mary Reid Kelley with Patrick Kelley, Minotaur with Skull, 2015. We also see the changing face of art, where more literal and symbolic imagery gives way to conceptual subtlety, the various myths becoming more of a starting point, or an influence among many, than material for literal illustration (though there are some contemporary works that use the literal to hilarious ends: see the Jaime Pitarch work below, a one-eyed glasses frame, which is fit for a cyclops). Here we see the visual kapow of the meeting of art and mythology, with the ripped torsos of father and son emphasized in characteristic, lustful glory in the early works lavish, angel-like wings, sometimes shown on their own as a sign of both hope and human weakness and the dark onset of tragedy. Perhaps an early example of the artistic troubled genius. In the introduction to the section we read about Daedalus, the creative father of the famously doomed Icarus, as an artist, a man ultimately ruined by his “unchecked imaginative power”. Take the chapter Flying Too Close to the Sun: Daedalus and Icarus as an example-this section draws together the work of unknown artists from the years BC, with that of Frederic Leighton (1869), Anselm Kiefer (1981) and, of course, Henri Matisse, with his hugely famous Icarus from 1947. It’s great to see pieces of contemporary and historical art sitting alongside each other, where readers can explore the responses of artists from varying time periods in the same space. Roger Hiorns, Untitled, 2005-10. British Art Show 7: In the Days of the Comet, Hayward Gallery, London,, 25-year-old art student Andrew McAulay sits on the end of a metal bench, watching a flame. Photo by Ray Tang/REX/Shutterstock Instead the chapters bring a variety of stories to colourful life. Besides, mythology is such a vast subject, which has influenced such an enormous group of artists over the years, one would imagine that putting together any sort of coherent and all-encompassing timeline would be a losing game. Within the book itself, chapters are broken up by theme and story, rather than by the chronology of the art made, which gives it more impact than reading like a timeline, where the content then feels less characterful and more museum-like or illustrative. A quick scan of this refreshes my memory it was, in fact, Antigone’s sister, the feeble Ismene, who I played at school. There is an especially handy selection of family trees at the end of the book, covering different houses and kingdoms. Photo by Universal History Archive/Universal Images Group/REX/ShutterstockĪ knowledge of Greek and Roman mythology that is sketchy at best is perfectly sufficient to dive into Phaidon’s mammoth new, coffee-table-worthy book Flying Too Close to the Sun: Myths in Art from Classical to Contemporary, which brings together art from the last 3,500 years and is beautifully made, with a textured orange cover. Frederic Leighton, Icarus and Daedalus, c 1869. It wasn’t quite as depressing as our performance of Federico Garcia Lorca’s Blood Wedding, from which I remember almost nothing apart from a lot of wailing, but it was pretty close. She was a weak character, and a lot of people died throughout the performance (not in actuality, I do hope, but in the narrative). I recognized the names of neither of Medusa’s sisters, which made me wonder if it was in fact another famous goddess whose sibling I played. I recently found myself Googling “Iolanthe”, when trying to figure out which of Medusa’s sisters I played in my performing arts A-level, before remembering she is in fact the lead fairy and titular character in the very brilliant 1882 play by comedy opera creators Gilbert and Sullivan. I remember parts here and there, but really I have very little knowledge about who is mother to whom, or which sisters descended from which god. I’m not going to lie, mythology makes my head spin.