Shining Frames and Empty Canvases

Abstract

In our modern world, we are constantly polishing the "frames" that beautifully display the artworks that make up our selves. Glorious words, ideal futures, and a passion for becoming. However, the canvases that should fit within those frames remain blank, no matter how much time passes. This paper explores the strange complicity that keeps expanding in society, while "realization" is absent. What emerges is a landscape of gentle deception that everyone vaguely recognizes but never speaks.

Keywords

Self-realization, staging, silence, complicity, the curse of ideals

The ever-polished light of the frame

One sunny afternoon, people all over the city were enthusiastically discussing their futures. Words that escaped their lips were like grasping at clouds, yet had a pleasant ring to them. They represented an investment in their yet-to-be-discovered selves, a passion for making the world a better place, and proof of a free spirit unconstrained by anything. They hold these words dearly, like talismans.

The people around them also undoubtedly affirm them with warm gazes. At first glance, this scene may seem like a scene from an ideal society, filled with hope. But stop for a moment and look closely at their hands. All they see is an intricately crafted, dazzling gold-leaf picture frame. They're not holding the brushes or paints they need to paint.

In fact, they're so busy polishing the frame that it seems they have no time left to paint. Yet they seem satisfied. This is because, just by displaying a magnificent frame, they receive praise from those around them, who assume that it must contain a magnificent masterpiece.

A Barrier to Protect the White Canvas

For those who polish picture frames, the greatest fear is actually beginning to paint. Placing even a single stroke of color on the canvas would produce dire consequences. The painting will be cruelly judged as poorly done, mediocre, or unremarkable.

Concrete action is always fraught with the threat of failure. In contrast, embellishing oneself with abstract words carries no risk. The more one talks, the more perfect their ideal self becomes, preserved untouched by anyone. For these people, self-actualization has degenerated from "accomplishing something" to "continuing to present an image of oneself as if one were about to accomplish something."

Many people are vaguely aware of this ingenious substitution. Yet no one points out the contradiction. That's because those who point it out are also hiding their own empty picture frames. Exposing a neighbor's lies is, in turn, a blade that exposes one's own emptiness. By complimenting each other's picture frames, we gain a quiet sense of security.

(Happiness of the performance) = (Abstract declaration) × (Silence around) ÷ (Avoidance of concrete action)

A happy feast of accomplices

This phenomenon is supported by a strange kind of symbiotic relationship. Performers receive praise without paying the cost of producing concrete results. By affirming their counterparts, onlookers receive the indulgence of knowing they, too, will one day be rewarded.

At this feast, ability and achievements are no longer important. In fact, those who achieve too much concrete results may even be shunned as disrupting this happy harmony. In a place where a system has been perfected where happiness can be achieved simply by polishing a picture frame, bringing records of gritty effort and failures to the table is almost a breach of etiquette.

In the vast hall known as society, we project intangible shadow puppets and compete with each other for their skill. Whether or not they have substance is irrelevant here; only the beauty of the "shape of the object blocking the light" matters. This silent complicity is now unstoppable. We've reached the stage where we exchange empty boxes and smile at the thought of their weight.

A Morning When Only the Frame Remains

Soon, dawn breaks. Decades pass, and the people who continued to polish the frames grow old. They're left with a perfect frame, so shiny it's almost impossible to look at. But the canvas inside remains the same cold white it was when it was first created.

In their final moments, they may wonder, "What did I want to paint?" But they no longer have the words to answer that question. All their words have been consumed in applying more gold leaf to the frame.

Looking out across the city, new generations continue to gather, holding up even more dazzling frames. Far from frowning at the empty frames of their elders, they praise their luster and resolve to further polish their own. Believing in unpainted masterpieces is the most sophisticated form of salvation this society has ever created.

Outside the window, once again, someone is shouting out "their own truth." Every time that voice echoes, somewhere in the world, another blank canvas is sealed in a frame.