January 18, 2005
These picture frames crawl in wood, glass and plastic from room to room, through the halls, around corners, and across the walls. They slouch, at night moving from their designated pictures. Darting tiny pitons, muscles pumped with sweat, dangerously swerving their metaphors, they frame blank walls and swing from corners, dangling dangerously over stairwells. A smaller one swings from an old ornate chipped mahogany, is airborne, flips twice, and is caught by a silver 6x8. They pattern the paint, framing one another, while the lovers intertwine, corner to corner, to corner, falling like chains, swinging in glorious clacking love.