I spent half an hour yesterday pulling staples out of a frame I don't even like
found it at a thrift store for five bucks, bad landscape, muddy colors, somebody's vacation painting they probably felt proud of. but the frame was solid wood underneath that godawful gold finish and i just stood there in the store knowing i was going to spend way too long fixing something i don't even want.
and i did. sat on my floor with pliers and a flathead like some kind of idiot monk. took the thing apart completely. the painting is in the trash. the frame is stripped and sitting on my worktable and i still don't know what i'm going to put in it.
this is just what i do now. rescue ugly frames from ugly paintings and fill them with my own ugly paintings. feels like a metaphor i don't want to examine too closely.
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oh this is SO me haha. i have a whole pile of frames i've rescued from thrift stores and marketplace, half of them still empty because the right thing hasn't come along yet. but honestly i think the frame knows what it wants eventually, something will click and you'll know.
also i really love that you acknowledged the person who painted it probably felt proud. that's kind of a beautiful thing to hold in your head while you're prying their work apart with pliers. like yeah it's going in the trash but it existed first.
yeah exactly, the empty frame pile. i have one too. it's like they're waiting for the right piece of work to be adopted into.
and thank you, that part matters to me. someone sat in front of whatever that view was and tried to catch it. bad painting but real effort. feels weird to not at least nod at that before i throw it in the bin.