Asterion || Minotaur (cantfindtheexit) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-04-05 19:36:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | icarus, the minotaur |
Who: Asterion and Icarus
What: Talking, catching up, gluing....eating take out.
When: Sunday evening.
Where: Asterion's studio.
It was a beautiful night. The day had been warm, or at least, warm for a New York City spring, and Asterion had opened all of the windows and let the city sounds filter in, keeping that the soundtrack to his creativity. He found that it was the best way to keep a bit of constance and flow to pieces that were evolving rapidly, seemingly independently of his own will. He was in them, of course, in and through them all, but inspiration was taking him over, dictating his moves. Gathering the supplies for the sculpture that Orpheus had inspired was taking quite awhile...and was also quite a take, since he couldn't rely on the dumpsters and gutters and alleyways of the City to do that gathering for him. He had turned to Craig's List, turned to collection boxes and antique stores, and he was not asking his benefactor to help. No, this was important and he would do it independently; the sculpture had to be completely his, top to bottom.
So, while he waited, he would work on this; what would be displayed as the seventh piece in his show - a secret, never to be told - a piece for which the pieces were prolific, the materials easily found. He had gathered books, old and discarded, and now he sat on the floor surrounded by the pages, which he had ripped out and mixed together, bible verses mixing with romance novels mixing with the koran mixing with pulp and medicinal manuals, textbooks and intimate portrayals. the covers had been carefully adhered to an enormous, thick board, wide and long, shaped like an oval. Though the labyrinth was most often depicted in a circle or square, Asterion had memorized it's paths, it's every trapdoor, snare, and complication, it's very shape. He had wandered about in the darkness, walking those serpentine halls until he could run them, and he knew that he could recreate it perfectly, painstakingly, lovingly. If it was his prison-keeper, he had developed Stockholm Syndrome. To Asterion, the labyrinth was just as much a symbol of peace, beauty, and solitude as it was isolation and repression. The art world would murmur at the meaning of the piece and he would point to it's name, 'Secret', and smile. And that would be all.
But first he had to take the piece from concept to reality, and in order to do that, he had to take each page and twist it into a spire, glue it, and set it on a rack to dry out. And it was this long and arduous task that Icarus would (hopefully) be assisting him with this evening, and if not, he would certainly be watching. Oh, for the joys of being best friends with an artist!