A bit like Sisyphus

I have succumbed to the temptation of the tv ads for the home depot stores currently appearing this Easter vacation that challenge sedentary males to re-imagine, revitalise, yea to redecorate their homes in bright primary colours.  My wife chose the colours, bought the paint and materials, gave me precise instructions on how to proceed, and I provided the labour.  Although at times I felt a bit like Sisyphus the end result is undoubtedly worthwhile.  Indeed, listening to the radio while working, the time seemed to pass quickly and the chore of painting was (strangely?) both rewarding and relaxing.  So keen was I to begin that I was up and out of bed, showered, breakfasted and spreading paint by half past seven most mornings this week.  But I'm glad it's finished, in no small part due to the lofty assistance of my younger son, even if the reference to Sisyphus reminds me that Camus used the title Le Mythe de Sisyphus for his collection of essays on the general absurdity of life and the futility of many of Man's endeavours. Hopefully this doesn't include DIY and redecorating, although I suspect it does.  I don't remember reading that Camus was a dab hand with a brush and paint roller despite his undoubted intellectual prowess.  Glancing around at my pile of 'yet to be listened' to cds and small mountain of 'yet to be read' books, that thought on the 'futility of Man's endeavours' strikes home strongly.  As does a reminder that 'to be always filled with craving and desire' is one of the Three Poisons of Buddhism,  the other two being Ignorance and Attachment, or Hatred and Delusion according to the text you consult.  At any rate, the painting below is Madame Camus by Degas and really quite attractive.  I wonder if Degas was into home decorating?  I wonder too if colour blindness affected any (many?) of the great artists?  Being colour blind myself there have been interesting debates in the last few days about which particular shade of pale yellow (my wife's perception) or pale green (my perception) our dining room walls now are.

A bizarre story caught my eye concerning Henry Nott of The London Missionary Society, and a bricklayer from Bromsgrove by trade, who failed to convert a single Tahitian in 22 years of trying, starting in 1797. 'Possibly', Sue Arnold wryly suggests in her audio book review, 'because they were too busy killing, flattening and drying their neighbours, then making a big hole in the middle and wearing them like ponchos'.   I presume they would be waterproof, but how did they keep the ponchos soft and supple?  Ugh!  A disgusting thought.  However,  I do quite like the Tahitians for their persistence in rejecting Nott's offer of a false god.