The act of taking photographs is often about observable joy. Light makes odd things beautiful. The frame is the container that holds a photographer's point of view. Photography is a magical medium.
Our constructed containers (photos, windows, bodies, genders, points of view. . . . ) are so important to us. It's how we form language. It's how we self-define and relate to each other. There is beauty in being contained - in finding our box, our labels, our place in the world. But there is danger in the containment too - danger of not fitting, of not relating, of not being comforted or understood. We thrust these limitations on ourselves and on other people all the time.
I find myself taking photos of frames and containers all the time. There is always a hope for beauty in these boxes and boxed reflections. A hope that we will see our containers as leaping off points - ballasts for leaping into the real. A place for the inhaled breath for the exhale of being. What a world it would be if our labels could be a home bases for honesty rather than traps that limit what we can say and be. These images are about embracing the container and the potential for more outside of it.
And of course, some of these are because they were too odd or too funny not to be photographs.