REALITY INDEX

Abstract

A small, wooden frame with decorative doors breaks up the blank space of the wall. It is fixed; it cannot be moved like other frames. We have learned to choreograph our lives around it. On the two doors are two small knobs—they suggest action; perhaps I should open them. Perhaps many hands before mine have opened them. Perhaps not. In my mind, the frame holds many things. I cannot count them all, the possibilities. I open the doors to expose the innards of the wall; it tells me the house is made of straw. The wall frays toward me. The doors no longer hide many things—just one. The frame and I share this now. It is not a thing of objecthood, rather, it is a thing of candor. I walk outside the house to find there are many of these doors in the world, exposing the unique constructions of the spaces we inhabit. This one is mine. This is a truth window.