The Weight of Sisyphus
On the series that keeps returning — effort, repetition, and the absurd dignity of pushing the rock.
For years now I keep returning to Sisyphus. The series has grown to many parts — thrones, boulders, chairs, whole rooms — and I still have not finished arguing with the myth.
What draws me is not the punishment but the repetition. Sisyphus pushes the rock up, the rock rolls down, he begins again. It is the most ordinary thing in the world: we all do it, every day, in studios and kitchens and offices. Camus said we must imagine Sisyphus happy. I try to imagine him at work.
In copper, the boulder becomes a meteorite, a seat, a throne — something you can almost live with. Turning the burden into furniture is a small joke and a serious proposition at the same time. If the rock is going to roll back anyway, you may as well make it beautiful, and you may as well sit down.
Each new part of the series is another attempt at the same impossible climb. That is exactly why I keep making them.