Scars

I became fascinated with scars over a decade ago when my colleague caught her hand in a pair of electric hedge trimmers and needed more than 50 stitches. I photographed her fingers—a crazy, intricate patchwork. Because she was a painter, we collaborated to create beautiful, if not disturbing, portraits a la Alfred Stieglitz, the famous photographer and the lover of Georgia O’Keefe, whose delicate hands where so brilliantly captured in black and white more than 90 years ago. In other words, we made art from a scary accident.

I took those shots of my colleague’s hands just after the injury, and thankfully, the doctor’s handiwork had left only faint lines, marks too subtle for a second round of photos. So though I never photographed her scars, it set me on the path of exploration of scars as metaphor.

We all have a scar somewhere on our bodies, and these scars are usually coupled with a good story. Sometimes the injury is benign, funny, and maybe nostalgic of childhood adventure. Sometimes the injury is more dramatic, the physical event accompanied by an emotional trauma.

Part of the reason I became interested in photographing the visible scars is because I believe there is healing in honoring them. The photo seen here was taken of my friend who had been in a terrible car accident. The experience of taking the photographs—I hope—helped her come to terms her body’s transformation and the general post-traumatic fallout. We also had a lot of fun taking them.

There are of course, a number of photographers and organizations doing great healing work. The Colon Club, founded by Molly McMasters (a colon cancer survivor diagnosed on her 23rd birthday) and Hannah Vogler (who lost her cousin, Amanda to colon cancer at age 27) has been honoring scars for years. The Colon Club puts together the Colondar, a calendar of men and women affected by colorectal cancer, with the mission of spreading awareness about the surprisingly young demographic diagnosed each year. In the process, the Colondar participants get to bare their scars to the world. Check out the Colondar


Breast cancer survivors have also created some fantastic projects. Here are just a couple links:

The Scar Project
OfScars


But what about the proverbial unseen scars that reside in the body? I believe in honoring them as well, particularly because they are so insidiously invisible, to others and even to ourselves.

This photo was taken when grieving the loss of a relationship. The photo doesn’t depict a physical scar. Nor does it try to explicitly convey the pain I was feeling. But it captures a very intense moment.

In a heap of tears, I was suddenly distracted by the afternoon sunlight. Instinctively, I grabbed my camera. I was hurting all over that day—physically hurting. But somehow in the process of taking these photos, of paying close attention to self, I became something “other.” My body was no longer identifiable next to the feathers. And the pain, so acute, gradually became not so personal.

Nigerian writer, poet, activist Chris Abani says that when we’re making art it’s essential to express from our deepest wounds. When we speak from our unique wounds in an authentic way, we transcend personal and move into the universal.

I think we can use art (photography, painting, writing, and yes, movement) as a way to honor beauty even in our worst moments. When I look at this photo I remember pain, but I also feel transcendence. It’s a phoenix rising moment, feathers and all.

So if you were to choose one scar, and one tool to transform it, what would yours be? You can go back to childhood, or just skip back to last week. Write, sketch, dance, take a photo, draw on yourself with magic maker. Tell the story of your scar to yourself. And then let it become something impersonal, universal, and if you’re lucky—beautiful.