The day will come, my friend, when art will no longer be kept in square cages. It will weave seamlessly through various points of interest in the home. It will pop up with the toast, and sit at our feet with the dog. Frames will seem a severe convention of the past. A contrivance to show the straight edges of walls. How we like to get things level! Walk down a suburban street and when you hear the pinging of a hammer in the front room, stop. Someone's hanging a new print to match their couch. "Is it level? Is it level?", they ask. Perhaps they should be asking, "Why am I living in a rectangle box, surrounded by squares? Why not circles and triangles? Spirals and ellipses? They could ponder the white space inside the frame. Does it give the art room to breathe? Or hold it in place? Art is a wild animal, you know, that will one day devour you whole. Don't kid yourself, that you've tamed it. Somewhere sits a woman, reading her copy of House Beautiful, and while her back is turned, the painting over the mantel, creeps that much closer to bursting out of its frame.