The Picture Frame


I sit here all day waiting for people to look at me. They lean in and quizzically examine the picture inside and then the man says to the woman:

“Oh, that’s…”

“I can’t believe,” the woman says.

With furrowed eyebrows they lean in further as if it’s a car accident they can’t take their eyes off of. With their mouths slightly open they rub their chin and squint.

“The lines are very exquisite.”

“It is definitely a conversational piece.”

The gallery owner smiles proudly and waves her hand over my thin frame. “It’s the newest of the collection. He was the quintessential artist of his time.”

“Yes, of course – I can certainly see that.” The woman says while she carefully takes off her glasses. Not knowing what to add, she makes a humming sound from deep inside her throat. “I’m just not so sure I want it in my living room.” I know the rejection is coming.

“I can certainly have another frame put in, if it’s not to your liking.” The gallery owner stares at me and I feel a shiver spread through my back.

“Well, it’s just that it’s very…” the woman’s eyes shift from the picture to the wall. “Dark.”

They stare straight through me, without even looking.

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13 thoughts on “The Picture Frame

  1. I empathize for I to like lighter pictures. Dark pictures of turmoil like the scream do not make my wall. I will see the darkness soon enough as my eyes close for the last time.

  2. Love it…clever! …But not sure my living room is ready for a set of lungs yet. Maybe I should repaint… poor frame!

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