dontmindtheminotaur - Tumblr blog

[dontmindtheminotaur]

What if Theseus didn’t slay the Minotaur..? I feel like my art is very quickly spiraling towards Myths and Legends for inspiration and I don’t mind it at all! If you have any suggestions for what I could do next, pls leave a message for me!  May 

[dontmindtheminotaur]

Queen of Crete overrules her husband and raises their new son normally, prince turns out real okay actually.

[dontmindtheminotaur]

Recently I went to one of my favorite museums of all times, the Muskegon Art Museum, and discovered this new bronze by UK artist, Beth Carter, Minotaur Reading. When people think of the myth of the Minotaur it’s almost always in context of his violence, his lust, his impossible body. Here all that is swept away with this monstrous form reading a small golden book. This made me crazy happy to see.

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the wretched abomination known as the minotaur has discovered some chalk

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Pasiphae’s Son 🐮✨

[dontmindtheminotaur]

The Third Letter

22.. 23… 24… I know not how many times I have paced the entire length of the seemingly never-ending maze since I last wrote to you. I have begun to feel more sorrowful than usual. I know not why but I suppose it could be caused by mother’s latest visit. She looked well. She said the same regarding me but I know she does not believe the words she speaks. A mother knows when her child is suffering. My mother knows her child is suffering. 18 years of suffering. 6,570 days of suffering. My mother insists we ‘celebrate’ my day of birth. As if I want to be reminded of the worst day in all of history. An abominable birthday. That title suits the occasion. I always spend my birthday fantasizing about what could’ve been if I was born a normal boy. A normal prince. Son of King Minos and Queen Pasiphaë -  

Valiant Prince Asterion!

Heroic Prince Asterion!

Brave Prince Asterion!

Utterly Ordinary and Fully Human Prince Asterion!

What a cruel trick of the gods that I, a man a monster, who was meant to live a life of royalty was instead subjected to a life of squalor. Though, I suppose it could be worse. I want not for food, literature, cloth, or shelter. Writings I read recently told of a man with nothing. Starvation trailed him everywhere he journeyed. Clothes torn and soiled. Every night he prayed to the gods to end his suffering. I know not if he meant finally finding sustenance or finally dying from lack thereof. Personally, the latter appears more desirable. Though, I have never given much thought to what follows. For the man in the tale, I assume the Fields of Asphodel. He was not an immoral man and he, from my knowledge, was never scorned by love. Lord Hades would not see Tartarus or the Fields of Mourning fit for such a man. Elysium is less improbable for the man than it is for me but highly unlikely. Only heroes have the honor of seeing Elysium. If I were the prince I was meant to be, I would be living a life worthy of such a promising destination. However, my conception promised me a special place in Tartarus. All monsters find a home in Tartarus when they die are inevitably slain.

Is that my fate? Will I be slaughtered by a ‘hero’ only due to my mere existence? Fairness is not something I have ever been acquainted with. I wonder if Medusa feels the same way? If she actually exists or existed. That statement also applies to me on the surface. I, sadly, do exist. I will assume she does as well. Perhaps, if I ever meet her we can share stories of our utter loneliness and the unfairness of our lives. Some monsters escape the underworld and return to the surface. Why is beyond me? But they have seen the world. They have felt the warmth of the sun on their skin, fur, scales, or feathers. They have seen the sky. Felt the grass. Never stuck in an endless concrete prison. Tartarus will be a long-awaited change in scenery. Endless torture doesn’t sound as horrible when you have never felt anything. I find myself growing tired. I will continue this letter when I wake. Though it does not matter, it is all I have.

Forever Hidden,

Asterion.

[dontmindtheminotaur]

Michael Ayrton (British, 1921-1975), Minotaur Risen, 1971. Etching, 540 x 340 mm. Edition of 75

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Minotaur by Gabrielle Bakker  ۩  Μινώταυρος από τον Γκαμπριέλ Μπέικερ

[dontmindtheminotaur]

The Second Letter

Countless days have passed since I wrote you last, though I know not how many. I know not if I rest during the night and rise during the day or if it is the contrary. Regardless of if my slumber cycle is indeed shifted from the natural order of day and night, they are both spent in kind. When I am conscious I dream of the sun, the sky, the freedom of the surface, without understanding what any of it truly is. When I am asleep, I dream of nothing. I often ponder on what you dream of. A common mortal with a common life. I wonder if you also feel confined in your livelihood as I do in this labyrinth. I have been reading again. About a boy who yearns to be greater than he is. Do all of you on the outside wish to be like the gods? It seems as though even they are trapped within their own right. Hera, queen of the gods, is stuck in an adulterous marriage with her brother Zeus. Aphrodite much the same with the god of the forge. Hades is bound to the underworld, cast underground by his brothers. I too understand the feeling of being banished to the depths of the earth. However, unlike me, the king of the dead possesses company in the forms of his wife, the lovely Persephone, goddess of spring, and his hound, Cerberus. Perhaps one day I too will have a companion. Even so, I do not let myself fantasize about mortal women. No woman could gaze upon me without weeping. The only women I have witnessed have been my mother and illustrations within the texts she brings me. Monsters are not meant for marriage. Fantasizing about finding love is fruitless. Much like fantasizing about anything in this hell-scape. Yet my mind betrays me. Worry not, I suppose, it does aid in passing the time. I will envision what it would be like to live a traditional life, with a traditional maiden, until I finally waste away. Joining the bones of those who also couldn’t escape these walls.

Apologies for not having more to discuss. I am running out of literature to occupy my time. I am beginning to believe I am incapable of forming my own thoughts without being prompted by the written word of someone else. I will write to you again soon. Though response is improbable, I am still grateful for the collapse of the furthest wall of the west wing. There is an ever so small horizontal crack in the stone. Light trickles in on days that I assume are overly bright. This is where I push my letters through to the outside - to you. I have tried breaking through the concrete multiple times, hurling my brawny build into the fracture. Sadly, it must be my fate to remain trapped in here til death. I truly pray you do not feel as imprisoned as I do.

Forever hidden, Asterion

[dontmindtheminotaur]

Minotaur in the labyrinth, Roman mosaic at Conímbriga, Portugal

[dontmindtheminotaur]

Fig. 323. Pasiphaë holding the baby Minotaur. Attic red-figure kylix. Zeus : a study in ancient religion. v.1. 1914.

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[dontmindtheminotaur]

The First Letter

A child is a gift from the gods. The loom of the universe weaves a new thread into the tapestry of the cosmos that will run like the river Styx until the Fates decide it is time for it to be cut. Eileithyia oversees a new soul out of the darkness of the womb and into the warm light of the world. Leto basks in the creation of a new mother. She fondly reminisces about the pride she held when she delivered her twins, the sun, and the moon. Two beautiful golden-haired children that grew into fearsome Olympians, much like their father Zeus, king of the gods. Innumerable children were born on the fifth day of spring. None as impressive as the celestial twins and none as horrid as the child Pasiphae birthed.

Pasiphae had been in labor for what felt like eons. Her throat had gone dry due to her incessant screaming. Sweat drenched her pale skin like rain. One of the midwives wiped her forehead with a cold rag attempting to ease her. Pasiphae could feel her form getting weak. Fatigue settling in her bones. The pain was unlike any other. Her child seemed larger than she could have imagined. Agony wracked her body as she willed herself to push with the only shred of might she had left. The dreadful cries of the new mother were replaced by those of her son. Inhuman wailing filled the room as soon as the child exited the sanctuary of his mother’s body into the fabric in a midwife’s arms. The baby was enveloped completely in a coarse swaddle. His face concealed from the world as he was placed into his mother’s arms. Shaky fingers pulled back the fabric to reveal the head of the abomination. Large gleaming black eyes were spread far apart on both sides of his thick black snout, sunk under his protruding brow. Hide covered ears sprouted from both sides of his scalp. This monstrous head rested atop an ordinary human torso. However, his legs, black shaggy hindquarters, were that of a calf. Half-human, half-bovine. A beast born from a mortal woman cursed by Poseidon to bear the love of a bull.

Pasiphae, not unlike most mothers, believed her child was faultless. Nothing regarding this creature made her uneasy. Though, she would be the only one. Hot tears streamed down her face as she beamed at her son. Lachrymose blue eyes looking into pools of black. Her fingers lightly brushed over his ebony coated cheek. She was pleased, content, prideful. Her child was unlike any other to walk the earth. His fate unknown, yet she knew it would be great.

The Great Asterion.

Attached is a page I tore out of ‘Minotaur. The monster beneath Knossos.’ You would assume someone would ask me if they could print a biography about my life. However, I don’t think the author truly believes I exist. He certainly knows nothing of my life. Great? What could possibly be great about remaining locked in an unending maze? Spending day after day roaming the same concrete floors. I’m beginning to despise the sound of my own hoof steps. Seldom I will find a poor soul attempting to escape. I try to speak with them, help them, but they always begin screaming and run away. I don’t get to speak to many people. Seldom my mother comes to see me, I know my ‘father’ does not want her coming here. She brings texts with her when she visits, hence the excerpt above. Reading is the only escape I have from my dreary existence. I am assuredly not interesting enough to have various works composed about me. The most noteworthy thing I have accomplished is being born. Which, I had no control over. If I had, I would not have chosen to be. Rather I would have chosen to be a natural mortal boy, a boy my father could love, not an atrocity.

I appear to be writing more than I have previously. My composition seems to be improving. Speech nevertheless still alludes me. I understand it is because I have no one to train with. Seldom I speak to myself, not comprehending whether or not my words make sense. A list of words I can speak triumphantly would not exceed a page of papyrus.

Mother Hello Stay Love

As you can see my extensive verbal vocabulary is impressive. I will continue to practice but it is for naught without another person to speak with. I know not who the following person I see will be or when I will see them. I know not who I’m writing this letter to now. I understand that you are not capable of replying. Nevertheless, I trust this will find you well.

Forever hidden, Asterion