Framing

The entire day, standing at a work table, framing photographs. We got all 25 framed. 18 in standard frames and the rest with glass, foam board backing, and corner clips. The clips require a mind numbing tangle of string. D did those and I did the conventional frames, we finished about the same time, after four, feeling numb. We didn't even talk much, to each other, but we were both steady talking to ourselves. Framing requires talking to yourself, often with fits of cursing. Several of the photos I worked on, the paper wasn't square, and the actual image tapered. Whoever ordered these frames, years ago, should be shot. Three different sizes. Close to the same size, but not exactly. Each frame requires: a mat, the photograph, and four sheets of archival foam board. Three different sizes, come on. You take one apart, they have eight little hold-downs and hanging wire attached on the back with incredibly small screws, pull out the sheets of foam, pry-out is a more operative term, I use my knife, clean the inside of the glass, then press the photograph into place with a piece of backing, then twist the thing so you can see it; reposition as necessary, then secure, with rice tape and archival spit. Sneak that in there, an aside. If you had listened to what D and I were saying. today, it might have sounded like a conversation, but it wasn't. That was just the sound of two minds babbling. I called a couple of smoke breaks, went down and got Sara, and we sat on the loading dock, smoked and traded stories. I suspect everything is lies, but we seem to agree. Isn't that correct? What looms in front of us? 40 foot sinkholes and really large roaches. Frankly, I'm afraid. And the only people I trust are crazier than me.