Today, a grey, cloudy, misty day. In this I’m thinking of how life changes and how we subconsciously and consciously prepare. And of wings and parachutes. A couple of years ago, I think I wanted to fly, much like Icarus, I tried making wings and much like Icarus, I failed. A bit of a traumatic experience and haven’t thought much of flying again. For some reason today though, I’ve been thinking of wings and parachutes.
Parachutes, historically made of silk, which I find horribly poetic that a creature- the silk worm spends its entire life growing the cocoon for our silk. Even if it was to mature fully and break from the cocoon, it will never fly, that has been bred out of them, could that ever be bred back in? How ironic is it that the poor flightless moth’s life brings flight to us mere humans.
I’ve paraglided once before ages ago, it was heavenly, the closest thing I’ve ever felt to flying like a bird, gliding along the warm thermals of the wind, so quietly, so gently. If I ever do this again I will say a prayer of gratitude to the humble silk worm.
For some reason in these wonderings I ask –
what if Icarus was a woman?
And what if she was navigating by the moon instead? (though I love the sun too, it does burn)
What if she flew over the wall and wings unburnt she unfurled her silk parachute which she stitched with great care, and she landed into the free and wild lands?
A much better story to reflect upon maybe.
Funny thing, as I sit in my studio today drawing, painting, writing and stitching (all the arts I love), I’m listening to an album entitled “migration”, fitting
and maybe working on a parachute.