In Greek mythology, Daedalus was an Athenian master craftsman, inventor, and architect, whose most famous work was the labyrinth he built together with his son, Icarus, for Minos, the king of Crete, to shut in the fearsome Mino-taur—offspring of a fleeting passion between Minos’ wife, Pasiphae, and the Cretan Bull. A lesson that emanates from this work is that every technical feat, no matter how refined and flawless it may be, is always labyrinthine, never straightforward. [1] This is because all technique involves both a dimension of repetition, which leads to practice, and a dimension of intuition, which emerges when repetition is transformed into intelligence—action that forgoes conscious calculation. It is precisely at this juncture, at this fine membrane, that we find the raw material and field of observation of Mano Penalva, an artist attuned to the labyrinthine ways of popular ...