Once you are in you’re in. If you make a myth your matrix and if that myth is centered upon as ancient and potent a concept as the Labyrinth, you build it around yourself without becoming aware that you are lost in the thing. Finding your way out only takes you deeper in, and the only way out is the way in. Myth tends to lengthen and thicken, coiling like a labyrinth around itself.
For Michael Ayrnton it was a re-shaping of the legend . Virgil recounted the outline of the myth of Daedalus in Book VI of the Aenid, describing the reliefs that Daedelus cast for the great temple to Apollo that he founded on the summit of the Cumaean rock. Perhaps there is a parallel between the myth and the facts of our own time which become more explicit with study. For Ayrnton, the head and then the whole figure of Icarus reshaped itself, evolving into something as remote as an astronaut, yet piercingly immediate in relevance. But once in the Labyrinth of Daedelus, can you find a way out of the myth itself without getting deeper embedded? Eventually becoming entangled in the long complicated and curious history of mazes which began at least five thousand years ago, apparently of Egyptian origin.
( see link at end) …Ayrton was obsessed by Daedalus, although some might argue that his real obsession was the Minotaur. He retraced many of Daedalus’s steps through the ancient world, duplicated some of his feats (such as casting a honeycomb in pure gold) and decorated a London restaurant, the Minotaur, entirely with his paintings and drawings of the monster. He also wrote an impressive novel, The Maze Maker, in which he dramatizes some of his conjectures about King Minos’s maze and its meaning. He gives it a dual center (“two chambers separated by a maze within a maze”) and adds that “these rooms were conceived as symbols of the juxtaposition of the sun and the moon. The maze between them took exactly as long to penetrate as the time when the sun and moon may be seen in the sky together on the day at the center of the year.” As for the maze’s coiling shape, it was inspired by ancient memories of primitive man’s wonder at the entrails that spilled from slaughtered men and animals. Read More:http://www.davidwillismccullough.com/brick_maze.htmla
In the ancient world, everything meant both itself and something else. A ritual devised for one purpose could come to represent another, and that coded language has been lost, as if we are without instructions and out of connection with the maze’s central concern of a complicated circling passage to the center. The coil and its passage to finish in a sort of climax.
There is early evidence to suggest that the defense of walled cities involved maze rituals. Joshua’s circling of the walls of Jericho, which caused them to fall, coincides with the ancient convention that a maze has seven turns or seven “decision points” at which the intruder must decide between alternative routes. And the myth never died out with the maze being modified to mean the symbolic passage through life and death into redemption. But for the maker of the maze, our own personal mazes, our burrowing and building, the dialectic of protection and imprison, a flight through the sky and a tunneling in the earth, are all probably no more than the parts of a single greater maze which is our life. Each labyrinth remains ambiguous, serving as both goal and sanctuary, journey and destination and the materials we make it with, the mental constructions, are at once dense, impenetrable, translucent, and illusory.
Such a maze each person makes around themselves and each is different from each other, for each contains the length, breadth, height, and depth of their own life. …