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| September 2007 |
| Billie Silvey |
| Flights of Fancy |
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| From childhood through my teen years, I would spread my arms and dance around in time to the internal music of flight. At |
| night, I would dream that I could fly. The phrase "flights of fancy" reminds us of the close connection between flying and the imagination. |
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| Greek legends tell the tale of Icarus, whose father Daedalus made him wings of feathers held together with wax. But when Icarus tried the wings, he flew too close to the sun. The heat melted the wax, and Icarus fell into the sea. The story may have been a warning against extremes of ambition or pride. In Bruegel's famous painting of the scene, farmers, shepherds and seamen go about their daily occupation, totally unaware of the tiny figure that has plummeted into the ocean until only Icarus' flailing legs showed above the waves (see lower right-hand corner of the painting). |
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| On television in the 1950s, I saw the first two images I’d seen of real people “flying.” Mary Martin in Peter Pan made flight seem a real possibility, as long as you ignored the strings that were occasionally picked up by the camera. She flew with the ease and delight of my dreams. |
| Not so with George Reeves as Superman. You could see the effort of his takeoffs as he flexed his legs and leapt into the sky. Once there, he flew without effort, though rather monotonously, arms and legs extended, cape fluttering behind him. When he banked to land, the camera would cut to show him catching himself on earth. More the muscular performance of a body-builder than the varied flight of my dreams. |
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| One of the best recent evocations of flight is the movie “Winged Migration.” There are no flying people depicted there, just birds--great flocks of them soaring across the globe in long annual treks. But the incredible photography gives you the sense that you’re right there, flying alongside them. You see each feather trim, naturally, inevitably, without strain. |