Empty Frames on the Wall.

In a room at the Oleo Resort in Cancun (Mexico) nestled between the bustling streets and the serene seaside, I found myself drawn to a peculiar piece of décor. It wasn’t a painting or a sculpture, but a set of eight empty frames, meticulously arranged on the wall of my room. The frames varied in size, creating a mosaic that seemed both deliberate and puzzling. Each frame, though empty, was perfectly centered, revealing nothing but the plain, unadorned wall behind them.

At first, I chuckled at the oddity of it. Who would hang empty frames on a wall? The idea seemed absurd, almost as if the hotel had forgotten to finish the decoration. But as I sat on the bed, the warm light of the evening sun casting gentle shadows on the frames, I began to see the art in it.

It was as if these frames were inviting me to fill them with my thoughts, my memories, and my dreams. I imagined the countless guests who had occupied this room before me, each gazing upon these frames and seeing something entirely different. For some, perhaps they were portals to happier times, envisioning family portraits, joyful moments, and the serene faces of loved ones. The frames could have been a reminder of life’s fullness, capturing the essence of smiles, laughter, and the contentment of a life well-lived.

But then, I considered others who might have felt the sting of emptiness when looking at these frames. To them, the void within each frame could have mirrored the void in their own lives—broken relationships, unfulfilled dreams, and the haunting echoes of regrets. The empty frames might have reflected their inner turmoil, poking at the inadequacies they tried so hard to hide.

As I pondered these thoughts, a deeper realization struck me: the frames were a metaphor for life itself. Life, much like these empty frames, is what we make of it. We are the artists of our own existence, choosing what to fill our days with—joy or sorrow, love or loss, hope or despair. The emptiness is not a flaw, but a canvas waiting to be painted.

If these frames had been filled with pictures, their meaning would be fixed, unchanging. There would be nothing left to imagine, no space for dreams to wander. But in their emptiness, they offered endless possibilities. They were a reminder that life is not about the finished product but about the process of creation, destruction, and recreation. Each person who enters this room might see something different, and that is the true beauty of it.

With that thought, I felt a profound connection to the frames. They were not just a quirky design choice; they were a reflection of the human experience—varied, imaginative, and ever-changing. As I left the room the next morning, I glanced back at the frames one last time. They seemed to hold more meaning than before, a silent reminder that life is as much about the empty spaces as it is about the ones we choose to fill.

Guchi.