Frames within Frames

In the front of the room, the econometrics professor drones on about his precocious son's ability to ask complicated mathematical questions at a young age, multi-variable regression models, the importance of statistics review in this class and matrices. I try not to look too bored as I cross my legs and fidget with my arms, crossing and uncrossing them, shifting my lanyard in my lap and rearranging my laptop on the tiny desk. I blink tiredly up towards the front as the chalk grates on the chalkboard. The Excel sheet values are too small to discern even from my seat near the front, and I have no idea what he’s saying nor what any of it means. I turn and murmur to my friend sitting beside me that I don’t understand a single word from the professor's mouth and she smiles, agreeing, then goes back to her phone. 

My eyes keep getting drawn to the door in my direct line of sight, on the left front side of the lecture hall. The door is open on this beautiful spring day, as it usually is for this afternoon class. The air is expectedly stuffy in this room that’s crammed with upwards of one hundred bored looking students, except for the few who raise their hands to ask questions no one else understands, and I watch as the professor is temporarily delighted at the opportunity to talk more and add more unnecessary anecdotes. I stare at his smug face as my mind begs to wander, and who am I to deny myself this pleasure? So my eyes once again shifts to the open door that taunts me. The breeze tickles my face, and the fresh air puts me at ease, my focus and sight sharpens; Suddenly I cannot look away, I’m hypnotized. 

I can’t stop looking at the open door. I think of the movie I had to watch for my Introduction to Film Studies course, In the Mood for Love, by the Chinese director, Wong Kar-wai as the branches of the trees sway. One of the telling aspects of the cinematography and style is how every frame is in a frame. What is meant by that was discussed further in my film analysis discussion, one of the only moments and lessons I retained from the mediocre general education course from a year ago. In every frame with one of the main characters or love interests, they are framed or surrounded by walls or objects within the scene. It gives the film an air of oppression and unease, there’s never a scene where it feels that the characters are free to move how they want, act in any way they please, make decisions that align with their desires. The ending is never resolved, the two characters never get a happy ending. Classic. The air becomes heavy in my chest as I stare out into the world outside, enamored. Everything in the room stills as I watch the trees gently shift in the wind, the leaves on the floor scatter, the flowers are in bloom, a person walks slowly past the line of sight through the view, they walk on petals and dappled sunlight. I watch this all through the frame. Everything is beautiful. 

My attention is drawn back to the lecture with a particularly enthusiastic shout from the professor to shift our attention to the Excel he wrestles with an awkward laugh. The overhead lights contrast deeply with the natural sunlight from outside, the usual lights I’m used to being under in the classroom are suddenly garish yet dull, yellowy and unnatural in comparison to the bright and clear light illuminating the trees and casting a clear and crisp shadow onto the ground. My eyes follow the lights to the chalkboard and walls, weirdly yellow and strange. I never noticed how the outdoors contrasted so sharply with the indoors, until now, I’m sure whoever opened the door didn't know it would serve as more of a distraction than a kind act of service to aid in avoiding the heat and oppressive air within the room. 

My consciousness of viewing the outdoors, so idealistic and picturesque, is framed by my subconscious of being in class, framed by yet another layer of all the things I have waiting for me after class. I cannot pull my eyes away from the door despite all this chaos and noise within my mind that screams for my attention, on more "important matters." My eyes trace the metal frame that is outlining the scene before my eyes, framed by the dull lecture hall and suddenly it could not be more clearer what I am seeing. 

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. The night before, I was curled up in bed with my bedside lamp brightly illuminating the corner where my bed sits. I took off my glasses with a deep sigh, folding them and resting them on the surface beside me, bringing my knees up and leaning against the cheap wooden bedframe behind me. The pillow is thin and I can feel the wood digging into my back, but I'm not one to quibble about such things. I lose myself in the novel for a wonderful portion of my day before I must sleep and arise to another plethora of problems, duties, responsibilities and frustrations. 

Within the first few pages of the novel, Alice finds herself in a strange hall, and kneeling down, she peeks into a door and hallway that opens into a beautiful garden. The garden is beautiful and bright and full of potential and possibilities for a young girl to explore, yet she is not the right size. She grows, she shrinks, she lengthens, she squats. She’s never quite small enough to fit. She cries. But she thinks of the garden with every new size she becomes. Nothing makes sense. The Cheshire Cat grins menacingly, its smile remaining long after the rest of its body has vanished. The baby is actually a pig. Finally, after enough traipsing around Wonderland, she crawls through the hall and into the garden, where the cast of characters prance around and non sensibly play croquet with rules that make no sense and the queen threatens death to anyone who dares oppose her with even an off glance. She realizes, the garden is not as beautiful nor as idealistic as she expected. Her journey to that climax, the characters she encountered, the words they said to her, her discomfort, her uncertainty, meandering, none of it made sense, not even the destination she was striving towards all that time. Alice wakes up. None of it mattered. 

I don't think it matters what anyone's garden contains. 

April 23, 2023