Good frames don’t save bad paintings
Sorry for the cliché, but that old saying really holds true: good frames don’t save bad paintings. At least, not for me.
It’s a fact—more and more I hear complaints about how shallow people have become. And with that, fewer individuals are willing to take deep dives. Instead, everyone gets used to merely dipping their toes in the water, splashing a bit on their faces, then moving on—without even exchanging a glance that’s fun to decipher. People settle for so little, reinforcing how so many relationships have become: EMPTY.
There’s an extreme emphasis on aesthetics now—on outward beauty above all. A huge concern with accentuating each person’s looks to the point that a pretty frame suffices, even for a rotten painting. But what good is inner beauty if nobody sticks around long enough to admire your character? If all that matters is having a satisfying roll in the hay at the end of an evening with a pretty face and a great body? We live in times when people care so much about packaging that they forget the richness of what’s inside. Love has become false advertising, inflated egos parading down the world’s shelves. So many full-of-themselves people who can barely listen—so many echoes of our own voices in hollow souls. So many willing to give so little for fear that the adventure of living what they believe to be “too much” might lead to disappointment. And so you find yourself alone—even when you’re not. It’s a sad thing to realize.
We celebrate the perfect body, yet we glorify the best-told lie. So many people crafting personas, displaying fake happiness. So many ashamed to admit their own emptiness, lost in their web of deceit. They lie to be accepted, to hide weaknesses, mistakes, foolishness. They lie to satisfy macho attitudes. They lie about their past, present, and future. They lie with their beauty, concealing imperfections that are natural—and far more beautiful. Thus is born a pointless vanity—a dictatorship of those who won’t let themselves be who they truly are—pushing emptiness forward, cultivating illusions in themselves and in others. What greater loneliness is there than being with someone and not being able to be yourself? Loving someone who isn’t you? As Renato Russo once said, “lying to yourself is always the worst lie.” How about we stop lying, stop being so small? Stop losing ourselves in excess?
I have nothing against those who love surfaces and superficiality—just be honest about it. To those who do, know that there are many traumatized souls out there who never imagined diving into such shallow waters, only to bang their heads hoping to navigate its depths. Gradually, the essential has fallen out of fashion, out of the spotlight. We need to remember that it’s possible to love your own mess—and above all, to love another with their own storm. Let’s not be so finite; we can be infinite in every moment of our lives. We must relearn to hear, to really listen. To reach out, to understand that our weaknesses aren’t always the same as others’. That doesn’t make them any less worthy of acceptance.
The world seems so lost. So many craving love, so many unable to love. Hiding who they really are out of fear, dragging themselves down. So many accepting so little, feeding this cycle. We deserve so much more. People deserve to be more. And by accepting so little, we convince others that nothing’s wrong—that no change is needed. And thus we lose ourselves in complacency. We lose our self-respect when we should be asserting our real needs and desires—unafraid of the stigma of loneliness. Our hungers imprison us. Everything becomes acceptable in the name of love, even when barely any passion existed. Everything becomes acceptable in the name of self-protection, self-detachment, even if it means using others and walking away without a care.
Each person lives as they choose. Each has their own concept of love. Each is responsible for allowing themselves to live as they please. And truly, nobody has the right to criticize that. But what’s lacking is dignity in relationships. We need to put ourselves in others’ shoes always. We must make things clear, not hide in illusions. Everything feels lighter when you don’t have to grope through the darkness of endless uncertainties. And when your heart beats faster, let’s stop being scared and cowardly, and be more than we are. Let’s take risks, embark on adventures. Let’s wake up and realize that nobody is happy if they limit themselves to being small. Nobody will ever be truly satisfied if they lock themselves away, afraid of others.
Beauty is important, yes—but true beauty belongs to those who have no shame in loving, in believing, in respecting. The real beauty is in those who allow themselves to be who they truly are, honestly uncaring whether they’ll be accepted. I hope that being free, being genuine, and striving to be more in a world of those content with so little will become more than mere intentions—that they’ll turn into realities for those lost along the way. May our paintings grow more beautiful, and may people see beyond the frames. May they learn to admire and understand the beauty and the scribbles of abstract art—that which we really are. For we are more than a body—we are also a soul. We are more than empty lies—for deep down, we are real. We are a reality that urgently needs to be shown beyond the spotlight of superficial appearances.
By Yuri Cunha