I was asked recently about my commitment to the frame. It’s been showing up a lot lately. Actually, it hasn’t shown up. I put it there. I put it there, I made it to go there. The frame tells us where to look. The frame tells us where the show is. Sometimes it disappears though, we aren’t supposed to focus on it. It’s just an indication of the edge. The show starts and ends within the edges of the frame.
  
What if the frame is part of the show? 
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The proscenium is part of the production isn’t it? Two walls and a ceiling (or an arch, if you have the means) meet the floor to frame the vertical plane where the action happens. The proscenium tells us where the show is but it doesn’t disappear. It may fall victim to the hierarchy of the show it frames but it certainly doesn’t vanish. The proscenium is loud. It’s alive. It isn’t just the fourth wall, it creates the fourth wall. It has a front and a back. It’s got sides. It holds the curtains open and it frames them when they are closed. It holds the stage and it hides the guts. The proscenium is a passage. A portal to the internal.  
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What happens when we look back there? What happens if we frame the guts? 
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I want to frame the guts.  
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I want to frame what happens behind the frame. I want to know what goes on backstage. I want to know what goes on right behind the curtain, right before the performer goes on stage. Right before I or we or they tell their joke or do their bit in a bid to control the audience’s attention.  
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What does that moment before the show feel like? What do the guts feel like in the gut? It’s uneasy. It’s transitional. The performer is about to traverse the passage, about to enter the frame. Their systems are in flux. Acid Green, Acid Yellow. Eight is the infinite but I count nine hearts. Nine is transitional. Nine is on the precipice of change.  
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Where does the uneasiness go when you enter the frame? Does it change? Can it become ten? How do you control the audience’s attention? Can you spend so much time attempting to control the type of attention that you get that you change yourself? Is this method acting?  What happens after the show? Do you go back to eight? 
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I don’t think I want to stop right behind the curtain. I want to pull to front has far back as I can go. I want to see the hallways leading to the stage, I want to see the dressing rooms, I want to see where the props are stored. Where is the green room?  
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Can we see the clown putting on their makeup?  
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I think the makeup has been on for a very long time.
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It may have fused at this point. There is still a person under there but the clown suit isn’t coming off. It doesn’t come off. What happens to the person under the clown suit if the clown puts on a person suit? Layers of hiding hidden behind a curtain. When does hiding become adornment?  
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Can you actually hide in the frame? Is a performer hiding if they are where you expect them to be? Am I really hiding if I’m in the structure I’ve put myself in? Or do I just always have two little clown shoes sticking out from under the curtain? Maybe the backstage, or the green room, or the space behind the branches is just a place to rest. An intermission.
  
I want to frame the guts. 
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I don’t want to stop at the green room. We can go all the way back. The proscenium is a passage, the frame can go anywhere. I want to know how far in the proscenium can lead. Can we go out the back door and into the parking lot of the theater? If we put a proscenium around that are we then back in the theater? Are we still stuck in the structure? If we can put a frame around anything, even the furthest, backest back of the internal, doesn’t that imply that the frame is still hiding more guts? When are the frames just facing each other, eternally examining one another? Can the frame become the audience?   
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I’m committed to the frame. I think I’ve always been committed to the frame, even when I was only gesturing towards it. The frame tells us where the show is. The frame hides the guts but it admits they are there. There is always something going on back there. The internal is eternal and its bubbling and it’s about to go on stage.  
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The proscenium is a passage.

Alex Kerr (b. 1989, Norfolk, Va) lives and works in his apartment. He received his BFA from Georgia State University. He is currently thinking about social performance, vanity, and embarrassment. Do you like him?


@kerrkerrkerrkerr
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