Broken Frame Four weeks ago, it falls and breaks into several separate pieces, making me shutter. My sweater’s sleeve brushing up against it – only very lightly. Out of the blue, it crashes onto the brick floor below. Clearly the “harlequin” wanted to speak up, was ready to shatter its shape. Well, “it” happens to be the unique sculpted ceramic frame my Mama created decades ago. I asked her to let me have it, brought it with me after her death, and it’s since been displayed in my “living room museum.” To my surprise the separate pieces are intact. After the pang of pain subsides, it takes a while to fit them into the original rectangle shape. An intriguing puzzle. Mesmerized by the glazed morsels, I get lost in re-arranging them in fluctuating patterns. Something in me resists gluing the colorful chunks right away back together. Playing is more fun. Broken, and yet one. Separate, yet together. A metamorphosing frame, with its Gestalt of invisible wholeness. This episod...