Steven Kenny, The Wing, 2005, oil on canvas, 40" x 30"
Ah, Icarus... what was he imagining? Rising and gliding like a bird, that he could fly to the fiery sun on his golden wings? Did he immolate himself for that vision, which trapped him in its promises, drew him on, puncturing his skin with the shafts of feathers like hypodermic needles filled with a distillation of fantasies that made him feel invincible, like a god?
When he flew, it was with night vision.