


I often closely examine my skin. This task, which originated as a nervous habit, has grown into a meditative practice. The skin on my hands intrigues me; it seems to change the most rapidly. I am also drawn to it because it is consistently available for observation. While engaging in this practice, I take note of the signs of damage, aging, growth and repair. For example, I notice that the structure of veins below is rising and beginning to push up on the skin, creating indents and peaks. I see I have newly formed scars, erratically placed like little cat-scratches. These marks are not gruesome, but I believe they are permanent. I contemplate my future self, an elderly self, examining these same marks. I notice new moles and I wonder what my skins threshold is, and how it holds pigment. I touch dry cuticles, wrinkles and damaged fingernails, and I think about the skin that’s sloughed off when I wash my hands and the growth that emerges to cover wounds. This practice represents a mode of contemplation about the body, our bodies. The body is the vessel of human experience. As one travels throughout the lifespan, and beyond, it acquires evidence of its encounters and surroundings. A human is constantly present within a rich and meditative object that bears damages from its past as it moves towards its future.


