Waiting for the Frame

My sister gave me a picture of an arctic hare, back when I had an apartment in the city. Well, it was Jersey City, but I was closer to midtown than most places in NYC. The rabbit was photographed by some naturalist or conservationist or something. It was a beautiful image of a snow white hare surrounded by... well, by snow. There are these very subtle shades of purple and blue which prevent it from looking like a blank white canvas. (As an high school art teacher used to say, snow is blue.) I loved it.

At the time, I had the picture mounted in a white frame, since it was to hang over the stackable washer/dryer in the kitchen. Which was white. The washer/dryer, not the kitchen. The kitchen was earth tones. For anyone who has not lived in an apartment in the city, having a stackable washer/dryer in the kitchen is not as strange as it sounds. It was a practical luxury.

When I moved, I packed the picture in bubble wrap, with little cardboard triangles protecting the corners. It survived the year in storage and the trek out to LA, and there was the perfect spot for it in my new bedroom. No washer/dryer in there, though. In fact, the washer/dryer is outside in a little shed. For anyone who has not lived in LA, having a washer/dryer outside in a shed is not as strange as it sounds. It is also, in it’s own way, a practical luxury.

In my bedroom, on the wall over my bed, was the ideal space for the picture of this arctic hare. Just above the only painting of mine I’ve ever displayed. It’s also the only oil painting I’ve ever done. Funny how I used to imagine I preferred acrylic, and yet have either never finished or never liked a single one of those. This oil does not look like something I would have painted, which is an odd but often true thing about art. It is not at all uncommon for the painter to be surprised by the painting.

This sole oil is abstract, which I am not. What I love about it is the color palette. Shades of purple and blue, which would look nice beneath an image of an arctic hare which would be all white if it were not for the more subtle shades of those same colors. Except for the white frame, which now no longer fits. The size is the same, of course, it’s the absence of the stackable washer/dryer which makes the white frame unfitting. So, I set the picture aside on a shelf in the garage. I’d have to change the frame before I hang the picture.

That was seven years ago. All this time, while the events of my life have unfolded here in LA, there has been a blank space on the wall above the painting over my bed. Sitting on shelves in the garage are bubble wrapped pictures and boxes of things I never unpacked. Putting together a yard sale a couple of weeks ago prompted me to go through these things. Unpack these boxes, unwrap these frames. There were things I’d forgotten I had. Beautiful things from my travels to other places. Gifts I’d been given that I loved and then put back in the presented box. Empty picture frames from people who mean something to me. Boxes full of photos that were meant to be organized at some point in time.

It has taken me until this point in my life to learn that when someone you love gives you a picture frame as a gift, the thing to do is put a photo of that person in that frame and display it on a dresser or a book shelf or hang it on a wall. Why do I have empty frames?

In the past couple of weeks, I have sorted through my unhidden things. Putting objects I love in places where they can be seen. Surrounding my space with things I have picked up on my journey so far, and things which remind me of the people I love back home.

My arctic hare now looks very happy above the only oil painting I’ve ever done. The frame is the same. The perspective has changed.