There was sheer spirited joy in Icarus’ fearless breach of the sun. Against all counsel, with wings of feathers and wax, hubris took over and the young man was singed by his own ambition, and came crashing down to the sea, drowning immediately following his fleeting taste of glory. For the briefest moment, we imagine Icarus’ experience as the purest form of ecstasy, a euphoric explosion of spectral color, sound stretching beyond human hearing, and skin-searing aspiration. Ovid’s parable brings us right to the present—a moment where human habitation of this planet may have already breached its limit, our politics escape moral reason, and public good has lost its moorings.

Anne Austin Pearce’s work Icarus graphs onto this morality tale a space for reflection—an image that invites one to ask large questions—Can I live a moral life? Can I pursue pleasure without harming others? Is there a place for me in a world that’s flying too close to the sun? How do I hang on to ecstatic possibilities that appear just beyond reach?