When The Fool has something to say, it's prudent to perk up those ears. Whether represented as a sooth-saying oaf in Shakespeare or the daring and disaster-prone man in a deck of tarot, the seeming nonsensical madness can bring needed, if inexplicable, wisdom. Laugh at my tarot reference if you must, while you nibble on a stale slice of savior, but the purpose of any ritual is to focus on and understand the symbolic journey of our lives. Animals strive only for survival: they are fully themselves and that is enough. We don't quite know what we are, but we desperately want to stretch the limits of whatever the definition ends up being. It's wise for each individual to seek their own meaning, because if you don't self-define, someone will do it for you. That said, a little playful identity-madness holds no great wrong in my mind, especially when paired with some serious welding skills.

A professor at West Virginia University at Parkersburg, Zach Orcutt is part salvage-artist, part performer, part archetypal identity (specifically blending The Hero and The Fool). His artistic endeavors serve the whims and demands of his alter-ego/muse, Zorcutt, whom he describes as the "Don Quixote of Aviation," and whose obsession with flight speaks "of his uncomfortable relationship between art, industry, politics, and commerce," per the artist statement. To Zorcutt, flying symbolizes "an ephemeral escape from the ceaseless custody of earth," to a world where "reason and fantasy function as one." Zorcutt's "madness is one of idealism, optimism, faith, and the belief that he can rise up out of the dumpster; he creates flying machines that will take him to new lands and opportunities."

Zorcutt's "machines are shaped from society's waste," the artist says, and are made of reclaimed materials such as abandoned exercise machines, car parts, and other carefully selected found objects. Zorcutt's adamant affirmation that "if a squirrel can fly, so can I!", is underscored by the flock of cast bronze flying squirrels ("mini test pilots") wearing little pilot masks, suspended from the ceiling in the gallery's far corner. Also included are a few scattered ballistic missiles - red-, yellow-, and black-painted tubes with sharp wings, positioned nose-down in rectangles of mulch, and stenciled with the words "WARNING FLAMMABLE ROCKETS." When I inquired as to their purpose, Orcutt clarified that "Zorcutt thought that they would make for nice lawn ordinances - I think he meant lawn ornaments, but we cannot be too sure."

Along one wall is the sexiest piece. "Rocinanta" (Don Quixote's horse) is a low, long, and slender vehicle, spangled with flames and pin-up girl decals, martinis, and dice, and outfitted with a saddle and saddle bags, wheels, two old-school PA speakers-turned-rockets blasting off the back, reins, and car hood ornament. The piece looks every bit like a steampunk James Bond's shiny new toy; part cowboy, part space-age, reminding me of something you'd spy on the "Firefly" series' set.

Though daredevil he may be, Zorcutt likes to be prepared. Across the gallery is a "Flight Simulator" to practice flying "Rocinanta." Though it is similar in shape, this piece is little more than a saddle seat on a giant spring with hand rails on the sides, balanced by long metal poles at front and back.

On the patio of the gallery, which overlooks the inside of Wilson Commons, stands "Justin Case," a cast bronze statue of the artist's face, hands, and feet in diving flippers. Justin's torso is just a metal armature, revealed through an alarmingly burned and shredded orange jumpsuit. The figure reminds me of another metaphoric fool: the doomed Icarus. But instead of wax wings, he is outfitted with a pilot's helmet and visor, his hands on the controls of a backpack hovercraft complete with air tanks, a rocket, and a hodge-podge of assembled pipes, topped by a propeller only about one nerve-wracking foot above his head.

This "stunt double" is another of Zorcutt's precautionary measures. "Zorcutt has a fear of crotch pot cooking!" says the artist. Understandable. Between his feet, snuggled in a canvas military first-aid kit bag, rests a big empty jewel-bottle of Bombay Sapphire. Testing done on the (doubly) toasted dummy ensured that Zorcutt arrived at the show's opening on a real hovercraft in one piece.

The artist took mild offense to my comparison: "Icarus?! Zorcutt will never go down like that fool. Remember - Zorcutt is the way of the future not the wave of the future [...] Zorcutt is adamant about correcting people that say this improperly. You see waves crash (not to say that Zorcutt does not) but Zorcutt is an optimist and would never set himself up for such a disaster." This hero is tempted by something far more dazzling than the sun or wind: transcendence. "His drive compels the viewer by reorienting their perspective, and makes them consider how an encounter with the unexpected can dramatically alter their understanding," says Orcutt. In escaping earthly institutions, control, and gravity, he also alludes to ideas about permission and self-sufficiency, and taps into individual capacity.

I know what you're thinking, dear readers: I've been reading waaay too much Joseph Campbell. Well, yes. But is it really too off to think of yourself as the center of your own magical, adventurous tale? Maybe it's something we all need - to rethink ourselves and our stories, and to stop being stifled by external reality.

"Zorcutt: The Way of the Future"

By Zach Orcutt

Through November 22

Hartnett Gallery, Wilson Commons, University of Rochester River Campus

275-4188, blogs.rochester.edu/Hartnett

Tue-Fri 11 a.m.-7 p.m., Sat-Sun noon-5 p.m.