More laundry to fold. That never-ending pile of laundry. What the shit, old classical painters? Where are all the artworks of a beefy, half-naked Sisyphus carrying a laundry basket up a hill? You know who I mean – that ancient Greek king who was punished by the gods for cheating death and forced to push a boulder up some hill for the rest of time.
I dunno about you, but if I squint at the base holding up Tom’s laundry basket, it looks a little like a Brâncușin depiction of Sisyphus. Bold legs, narrowing at the waist and erupting into a mighty upper body that carries an immense laundry basket across their shoulders.
Or maybe it’s only the Greek kings that get boulders? I guess I can make do with this pile of laundry as my eternal task… and I’m pretty sure this is how it works: as long as I keep doing the laundry, I will continue to cheat death and be permitted to make things in my workshop.
Photos: Arthur Carpentier
Originally written for the Sachsian Syndicate.
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