Entering my towns art museum, the air felt old. It settled among the art that welcomed me. Talent filled the art museum to the brim; every painting had a voice of its own. I spent time examining every piece of art, trying to find one that surrounded me with the most emotion. Not knowing what I was looking for, my senses led me to a room full of photographs. At first sight, I saw nothing that struck my attention. A few moments later I found a unique image. Taken by Anthony Marchetti, an untitled photo from Paul, depicts a frozen lake, entrapping a door frame under the surface. There wasn’t much to the snapshot, but it gave me some type of feeling that this was what I needed to write about. It led me to ponder its meaning.

The first thing I apprehended from this piece of art was something I wasn’t expecting. The photograph portrays a somber, yet murky style to its look, giving off signs of sadness. I can’t see the sky, but I can infer that it is cloudy with the sun trying to peak out because of the brightness reflecting off the sharp ice. Ice fills the frame from corner to corner, like water fills the sea. Millions of sharp bubbles are spread on and throughout the surface of the ice, making me wonder if it rained recently. Where the ice has cracked, broken pieces conjoin back together, leaving a dark fine line just beneath the surface. Looking deeper into the picture, I can see a door frame under the surface of the ice. Its outline shows a rusty brown color, blending into silver from the cast of the ice. Inside the outline of the door, there seems to be a long stick from a birch tree, and another unusual branch from a different tree just beside it. On the far side of the photo, there are about five holes that have been punched through, and overtime filled back up with ice. The one thing I can’t make out in this picture is a deep black line that shows on the upper part of the door. It looks like the ice is breaking away and falling downward.

As I picture myself standing there, I feel like I am standing in the middle of a Minnesota lake on an early Saturday morning. During the dead middle of winter, the lakes are covered with hard, thick ice. It’s still dark, with the sun peeking out like a flower trying to bloom. The incoming fog sets just above the treetops. As a small breeze blows through, moisture rests on my cheek. Small pockets of water hold onto my skin gently like a little girl holding onto her baby doll. The cold fresh air seeps into my nasal cavity. My nose starts to turn red from the low temperatures, making it feel numb. My lips become chapped with the cold air seeping into them. All around me I see snow covering the tips of pine trees across the horizon. I reach down to feel a high ridge of ice standing out. As I do so, I see a figure beneath the ice, a door. I wonder how this got here and how it seemed to freeze in the middle of the ice. As I stare deeper into the ice, I make out a fish looking for prey, along with a scratch of weeds. Walking across the surface with small but rapid steps, the cracking and booming from the ice catches my attention. I feel rough but slippery ice under my feet as I walk north. For miles, I can’t see or hear anyone besides my deep fluent breathing. All I see are miles and miles of scrappy ice. I look down at my watch and realize it is 6:30 on a Saturday morning.

To me, this photograph represents being trapped. The ice represents the barrier, beneath it trapped, and above it free. All the bad things happen under the ice, where the devil lies; hell. Above the ice represents heaven, where everything turns out ok. The cracks that lay over the frame of the door are clues of someone trying to break free of the devil. It’s like they are knocking on heaven’s door while still being dragged down by the devil. The sticks represent someone that is almost free. They are so close to breaking free but are stuck in the middle. Looking fixedly into the photo, I think of what it would be like to lie under the devilish ice, alone, another thing that comes to my mind when I see this image. We sometimes feel alone in life, no matter if it has to deal with relationships or certain situations. Some people just might want to crawl under the ice and be away from all of it, and when they are ready to get back they will enter through that door and be refreshed, ready to take on the challenges of life.

As I sit there resting my head back gazing into the photograph, I feel the fear of being trapped. A kid’s worst nightmare, homework. I am picturing myself beneath the ice with an accumulation of homework to do. I know that someday it will all be over, and I will finally break free from my biggest dilemma. I am now noticing a reflection of the light through the glass frame. It reminds me that life contains nothing but clear skies up ahead. It reassures me that all the work I put in, I will get out. Being trapped with homework might not always be a bad thing. Other times the weight of the world makes me want to sink under the ice. Sometimes I feel like no one would notice if I just slipped away. Things in life start to get hard, and I just want to get away from it all. Under the ice is a place where I can do this. It is a place I can go if I don’t feel like dealing with my worries. Whenever I am ready to come back out of the ice, all my worries will be gone. It will feel like a fresh start.

This photograph spoke to me in ways I don’t know how to describe. I don’t always see things and understand them the first time. The dull look on the face of this photograph struck its meaning. The way I talked about this image led me to think if that’s what the artist thought about it, but that doesn't matter. Artists create these things to see what other people perceive about their work. To make them think about what it means to them. I can’t always judge an image by the way it looks, because I never know what lies under the first layer.