Acrylic 24”x48”. 
Having cheated death twice (really cheated, as in dead, but escaped from Hades), Sisyphus, the trickster, is trapped by the gods on a treadmill of exhausting, futile, and useless busywork. Or perhaps it wasn’t the gods, and Sisyphus simply found himself in a gilded cage of success, confronting the fundamental emptiness of all that he had (or had not) achieved, and the necessity of sustaining the whole charade in perpetuity. In any case, I imagine that a trickster as skillful as Sisyphus would ultimately triumph, if not quite escape, from the eternal return of the same. It’s not that he would ever stop treading, pushing that rock up one side and down the other. There is no stopping the nature of nature. Rather, I think he might cease in his experience of the rock or the mountain as a destination at all. He might find himself rooted in something closer to the moment at hand, where the world blossoms, the eyes truly see, and exhaustion gives way to wings and the joy of whole hearted engagement. For all who toil away at so many extravagant castles made of well intentioned sand, triumph and tragedy turn on the precipice of perspective. 
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