I am working on a project about scars. It’s going well so far.
The body appears as a canvas for expereince and life is realised through the pain it remembers. So far, everybody has liked their scars, they were resolved to like them. Everybody said they told stories and that’s part of the reason why they liked them. It was always something learnt from or lived through or collected. Often, they’ve said that the body isn’t so precious as we’re made to think it is. I wonder if some of this preciousness comes from an inheritance of the Chirsitan mythology of the virgin body, the untouched, unaltered body which we idealise. With the scars, people seemed to realise that their body couldn’t stay untouched by life, age, blades, fire, other bodies and other wills. I really like how these people think about their bodies. Their bodies became texts that were written upon and would continue to be written and sought to be told to the world.