Not a moment goes by that I don’t grief for my poor son. I curse the moment my boy’s father decided to embark on this ill-fated flying experiment of his. I wish I was there to stop them before it was too late. But he never let me to be with my boy. Now when he is dead I can see him, touch him, hold him.
— with
Naucrate of Crete
and Icarus of athens
We all used to share an art studio in college and one time these two knuckleheads came in with more wax than they could carry. They stayed up all night drinking and making a mould for this huge sculpture, while heating up the wax and softening it. I remember it took them nearly 48 hours to actually get all the wax melted but they managed to stay awake the whole time. Just about when all the wax was finally melted, the crockpots they were using were shot and started a fire (the building was verryyyyy old as most art facilities are before DES gets to cleaning them up), setting off the lousy sprinkler system and ruining all the vats of wax. One of those moments that at the time was devastating because they had spent all their money on materials, but that now I look back with fondness on because I see how wild and zany they were, how committed to their work and collaboration and beauty and art they were.
When I went through my dear son's Phaethon's belongings, I found this small sculpture that had a special place in his heart. His love of horses was already apparent from a very early age.