A few weeks ago, I was visiting my father and ended up giving him a hand repainting the doors and interior surfaces of a kitchen’s cupboards. I struggle to recall a time when he hasn’t had some DIY job of varying scale on the go or pending, so this came as no real surprise. The cupboards had previously been painted white, but over time as one would expect, the elements had begun to yellow the pigment. A repaint was the solution and the timing of my visit was such that I was perfectly placed to help out.

A tin of emulsion was prepared, brushes selected and paint split between two containers. I took the stepladder to work on the raised areas and he laid out a groundsheet for the lower levels.

The work began, dip brush, remove drips, apply paint, repeat. Simple enough, and quite relaxing in it’s repetition, though after a short time, say one or two minutes, it became clear that the job would take a fair amount longer than the five minutes I had silently estimated. That optimistic five minute projection had not brought into account the large total surface area of the cupboards or fully taken stock of the slightly low viscosity of the paint.

Digesting this realisation, the idea of moving toward a conclusion at speed was almost instantly left behind in favour of a kind of nonchalant acceptance of the activity, rather than it’s completion, as the main point of focus. With the radio off and only the low pulse of a slowly oscillating fan joining the soft swish and plunge of brushes, we both worked quietly - big picture jettisoned and micro-view engaged. Dip, drips, paint, repeat. Enchanting in it’s repetition.