That is, when you don’t have curtains.
Winding down for the evening, I shut the lights at my new apartment. That second, a hundred different screens blinked into life–windows across the way.
Truth is, not much is “on” when your screen is someone else’s life as seen through their windows. People watch TV or have silent conversations. They clean and walk around seemingly aimlessly. Some even read, or are they doing homework? Who knows. And that’s about it. Mostly my reflections focused inward.
On my window frames, on my bare apartment, the expenses, the future. And then on memories. Memories about frames.
Like last winter in Tbilisi, the Georgian capital. When for light and heat I broke down and burned the wooden frames on my art. How I learned to remove heavy duty staplers with a single hard-working tweaser. (It’s all in the wrist.) On deciding to make it festive by having friends over to skewer marshmallows (an overseas gift from a friend) with kebob sticks, toasting them over the picture frame fire. Indoors. The crackling sparks made by hidden staples that foraged so deep into the wooden frames that they’d ended up in the fire. Our headlamps on. Our laughter filling the cold, chasing out the void.
Frames. They don’t have to be what we use to capture an image. They don’t really even limit anything. They just hold an image of an image, and even then, only for a moment.
Then again, our lives are over in a blink, too. In the meantime, it’s fun to think on reshaping frames, on tossing them into fires to make up our own ones. At least then we’d never hold them sacrosanct.
Truth is, frames are part of our lives. I suppose our brains need them. And they do hold paintings up rather well. And as Jesus and the Naked Guy are coming back soon, I’d best find me some new frames. So when folks look into my apartment, they have something worth tuning into. 😉