Freezer, Freeze Her
2025 Summer
The resonance in one overlooked moment.
Amplified and distorted through this reverb plate sculpture, ‘Freezer, Freeze Her’ explores the idea of resonance in both a physical and philosophical sense. Because life, as a whole, is the union and rebirth of moments; each one uniquely glued to the scrapbook of our memories.
Sculpture by Aris Solomon.
Poetry and narration by Paige Psyhojos.
Read the full poem below:
Freezer, Freeze Her
My body is the blue.
Eternally wrapped in the freezer of the sky.
Freezer, freeze her.
Ice cubes are a punctuation in time.
Frozen hues and blues of water.
I crack a few into coffee.
There are pockets of warm and cold,
like a natural lake.
Fried eggs are screaming on a cast iron pan.
The orange juice is fresh out.
Across the street a dog barks and I see its breath vaporize.
A holy morning.
The chime of breakfast.
Unbound by earthly theory.
Only the camaraderie of rain drops laughing,
slithering down the glass,
remind me of gravity.
A weathered deck of cards lives on the right corner of my desk.
I bet with myself: Red suit, and I’ll walk.
One card falls.
Ace of Diamonds.
I grab my coat.
The bitter breeze arrives like shingles on a roof;
layered and frozen stiff.
They usher me through the park.
The velvet curtains of fog set the stage.
A bench appears in focus.
A golden dedication to the deceased;
someone extraordinary.
Every person seems to fall short,
but every ghost claims to be spectacular.
Butter melts in an angel's mouth.
A ghost wasted no time living.
The rest of the picture:
A white feather hovers in air.
There’s a tangerine peel on the pavement.
The country club sprinklers spit water while it's raining.
I can hear church bells that are not ringing.
One reality of blue.
One morning.
Like the skeleton of a horseshoe,
those crabs in a biology textbook.
One moment fossilized in the rest.
Unable to be summoned the same way twice.
A distinctive resonance.
A new set of dice.
It is the union of moments that is a life, I think.
Every tick of a clock’s arm is the whine of eternity.
Rowing a boat through the thick syrupy strain of attention.
Life, I don’t understand you while you’re frying eggs in my kitchen.
Every slice of life between the living.
Scraping butter.
Dodging burnt edges.
Hot from the toaster.
Yet, every night we start over.
A new drawer of stars unfolds.
Pair of socks stuck in the corner.
I pick my galaxy.
One with soft cotton blankets.
One with wet hair tangled on the pillow.
And I am met again,
With the alarm clock buzzing.
The tally is zero.
The shadow of the sparrow.
Thawing from the freezer.
Knocking at my door.
In the rapture of my dreaming mind.
Born from the blue, another morning.
Another resonance is glued
To the scrapbook of my memory.
