Hidden Selves

June 4th, 2010

This was part of a Nick Cave exhibit of “Sound Suits” that I attended recently. The suits are out of this world, but it was this body suit that I fell in love with. Don’t we all flower and glitter and shine like this inside? What if we looked like that on the outside, too? A second skin that let our dream and visions materialize like a flower garden we’ve been hiding under Wolford black tights or skinny jeans or yoga pants or doctor’s scrubs. That guy you pass every day and dismiss as a jerk because he doesn’t return your hello. The cold fish who has enlarged diamonds rings on her fingers and a Dwell-worthy ┬áhouse. The homeless guy under the bridge we avert our eyes from. What if they are blooming, too, and it showed on all of us?

2 Responses to “Hidden Selves”

  1. In Italy, many of the beggars sought to gain attention by exhibiting their wounds. The stumps of missing hands or legs, the ugly scars of accidents, the mark of surgery or of neglect or injury.

    And we. the passers by, with two feet and two hands and no visible infirmities were supposed to vibrate between pity and guilt until our purses sprung open and dumped coins on a blanket at the cripple’s feet.

    Because, of course, we were “the rich, the skinny, the well fed, the employed, the loved, the satisfied.”

    I’d look at the people on the train platforms and streets passing by the beggars and wonder about their pain. What if we could see their hurt, their disappointments, their “wounds,” their losses, their “scars?” What if all our pain was made visible?

    Maybe then we’d see that the man who lost his leg was not the most broken and pitiful person after all.

  2. Jen Rognerud says:

    Before I read the words, hitting this picture made me jump just a little in my sleep. Then I smiled, then I laughed. I was hoping this was a picture of your legs ready to go out and walk the town. I would love it if everyone sparkled like this on the outside.

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