In cinema, “uncut” is the scene left exactly as it happened, before the editor decides what stays and what goes. Uncut Frames takes its name from that moment. It is set within the same ornate frames as Fame Frames, but it turns from faces to scenes: the images we carry with us long after the credits roll. Here, though, the frame cannot hold them. A curl of smoke, a beam of light, a telephone cord or a hand slips past the edge and is painted by hand onto the frame itself, as if the scene refused to stay on the screen. Uncut Frames takes the language of Fame Frames, poised between realist portraiture and the flat colour fields of pop art, and moves it from the face to the scene, from the gaze to the story. A film ends, but its scenes do not. They return unannounced, in a song, a colour, a gesture. Uncut Frames gives those moments a place on the wall and reminds us that the scenes we love were never really inside the frame. They were with us all along.
Some scenes were never meant to stay inside the frame.
