The Lure of the Labyrinth

Follow the winding path of a maze, where myth and mystery unfold.

Jan 06, 2025

At the start of a new year, the labyrinth feels like a perfect metaphor—a mirror of the months ahead. False starts, wrong turns and moments of backtracking remind us that progress is rarely linear. We don’t know where 2025 will take us or what waits at its center. But perhaps that’s the magic of it: the way forward is revealed one step at a time.

Labyrinths have always held a strange allure, a pull toward the unknown. The first recorded one, built by the Egyptians in the 19th century B.C., is long lost, its purpose buried with time. In Peru, the Nazca etched immense geoglyphs into the earth—sprawling paths shaped like a hummingbird and tree, thought to guide spirits and gods, as if the land itself were a map of secrets. In ancient Greece, the Minotaur’s lair haunted the imagination: a maze of shadowed stone corridors, designed to trap the beast within its intricate, unending passages.

In this edition of Arrangements, we explore labyrinths and mazes (though the two aren’t the same—the former guides, the latter confuses—we’ll use the terms interchangeably here). To walk a labyrinth is to surrender to its path, to let it alter our sense of direction. Enter at your own risk—twisting trails, dead ends and a Minotaur awaits. For one of you, there’s a surprise at the heart of this journey. Let’s step into the maze together.

Straight Ahead, Then Turn Left

When I lived in Barcelona, one of my favorite places was Parc del Laberint d’Horta. Imperfect hedges, the scent of cypress, the sound of Catalan drifting in the air. I wandered its paths with my parents, searched for the center with my husband. Now the maze lives in my mind, its corridors tracing pathways in my memories.

“The park feels like a beautiful, secret ruin; everything has an abandoned air,” Ingrid Rojas Contreras wrote in The New York Times. "A stone swan spouts water in a fountain, and I follow a cement spiral staircase down to a tiered cascade. Beyond it, large leafy plants open in an island in the middle of a pond; birds flit before me, and everywhere I look there seems to be more coves with falling water. Dry maple leaves, pulled by wind, rake the ground. I think there is no other life than staring at this dappled light on moss, on falling water, on so many shades of green…”

I hope to one day see Longleat’s hedge maze in England, a labyrinth of hornbeam hedges that curve into circles and spirals. In Argentina, the Laberinto Patagonia offers a magical experience at the foot of the Andes, where sacred geometry and mythology are woven into its design.

Other hedge mazes featured in these images include those at Brochowski Park in Poland, Hever Castle in England and the Governor’s Palace in Virginia, along with the 300-year-old shaped yew hedges at Powis Castle in England.

Right, Left, Right Again, Then Straight

In Matthew Craven’s reimagined labyrinth, vibrant flowers and lush foliage bloom in layers, each a delicate turn in a botanical maze. The collage, formed from cut-out images of violet succulents, striped snake plants and soft yellow daffodils, creates a maze of nature’s fleeting beauty.

Robert Irwin’s “Central Garden” at the Getty Center in L.A. is a living sculpture, changing with the seasons. A maze of azaleas—sometimes lush with green leaves, other times awash in pinks and reds—interlocks above a pool of water. “There’s no palette as rich as a garden,” Irwin told the L.A. Times. “And the intensity of it—I make this statement all the time: You can’t plan nature; you court her.”

Jennifer J. Lee’s "Hedges" captures the sculpted, clipped forms of green hedges, rendered in oil on jute. The texture gives the image a palpable realism, as if standing before the entrance to a hedge maze—familiar and enticing.

Crafted with an ancient wax technique and layers of hand-cut paper strips, William Geisler’s "Lighted Labyrinth" is a visual journey that invites you to move between layers of texture, color and form. The linear design, reminiscent of a maze, beckons you to lose yourself in its intricate pathways.

A Dead End, Retrace Your Steps, Go Left

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke was one of my five-star reads from 2024. It's set in an endless labyrinth of vast halls and towering marble statues, where rooms rearrange themselves. Piranesi, the only inhabitant, maps the maze and the ever-changing corridors—his map becoming both guide and puzzle in a world where time and reality blur.
Circe by Madeline Miller reimagines the myth of the famed nymph, focusing on her voice and journey as she encounters gods, mortals and monsters. Isolated on a deserted island, Circe discovers her power through both magic and solitude. While the book isn’t centered on the labyrinth itself, Daedalus and the Minotaur are part of her world, mirroring her own story of isolation and escape.
Labyrinths by Jorge Luis Borges is a short story collection that bends the boundaries of fiction. In one story, Borges imagines invented worlds, asking what would happen if our understanding of reality was organized differently. His tales often take the form of reviews of books that don’t exist, imagined creatures or philosophical musings, creating a literary game where logic, imagination and reality collide. (Fun fact: Labirinto Borges in Venice was built in an homage to the writer and inspired by his short story, “The Garden of Forking Paths.”)

The Minotaur—Go Left, Turn Right, Then Right Again

While the hedge maze is a key location in Alice in Wonderland, Wonderland itself is a labyrinth of impossible paths and unpredictable rules. Alice tumbles through landscapes where flowers speak, corridors lead nowhere and every encounter—with the Cheshire Cat or the Queen—draws her deeper into a world of distorted logic.

In Labyrinth, Sarah embarks on a quest to rescue her brother from the Goblin King, navigating a maze filled with puzzles, traps and Jim Henson creatures. (My personal favorite is Ludo, the Minotaur-like gentle giant pictured above.) The labyrinth, reconfiguring at every chance, mirrors Sarah’s inner journey, where she must confront her fears, grow and face the power of her imagination.

In The Shining, the Overlook Hotel functions like a labyrinth, its sprawling, disorienting hallways and hidden rooms symbolizing the psychological breakdown of Jack Torrance. Outside, the snow-covered hedge maze mirrors Jack’s unraveling mind—its frozen, convoluted paths leading him to madness, where the walls themselves seem to close in, blurring the lines between truth and terror.

Keep Going, You’re Almost There

Want to bring a labyrinth into your own home? Try this classic, Labyrinth: A Challenging Game of Skill. Made from wood, this game features a maze designed to test your coordination as you guide a ball through twists and turns.

You’ve Reached the Heart of the Maze

You’ve made it! One reader who leaves a comment below will receive a special gift mailed to their home, inspired by this post. The winner will be chosen at random and notified on January 21.

Now, Find Your Way Out