>>in transition<< bumped bruised and flew/through
bodies taking blows , bugs making homes
what do we do with the broken bits?
holding onto our own limbs
nails sunk into the skin
is it flesh if it doesn’t bleed?
does it scab if it doesn’t breathe?
shove spirit into me, borrowed eyes — seen
sugar-coated surrogates patiently waiting to eat
swallow shift shovel shit
bodied into dust
damage is done
sliced / cut : bread break-ed // fingers chafe ::
if we’re sealed we’re safe
While in transition, some of the artefacts were damaged. My father sent some of the injured bodies with me, so that I might find a way to fix them: make them whole again.
But these objects require a certain kind of care that wood-glue won’t be sensitive to…
So I’ve been looking into injury and repair.
I’ve written to the chair of the Conservation and Restoration department at UvA to inquire into how I might deal with the wounded. While I wait for a response, I’ve been researching the artist Kader Attia, who made some poignant remarks regarding this issue:
“…of what I found in primitive African societies, where broken objects were repaired several times, representing an incredible fusion of injury and repair—by repairing an object so roughly you actually leave the injury visible. As I was trying to understand this complexity, it gradually came to my mind that the repair and the injury are linked forever, and the injury is actually what the mind has always pretended to repair and also to remove—to sell the idea that we can rationally control everything, even the injury. And to give back an object or a human body its own initial shape comes from this denial of the injury, the denial of the destruction. When we think about repair (psychologically or physically), it means that there is an existing injury somewhere, but destruction is also a part of the repair.”
Some of the bodies my father sent to me had nails struck into their flesh, holding themselves together.
I don’t know if I have the heart to re-injure them this way.
Though all this talk of bodies and spirit, and damage and repair, brought me back to my own body: it’s ability to bruise and bleed and scar.
I think these bodies deserve to be able to produce their own scabs and scar tissue, that they might heal themselves, same same as me.
SCOBYs, in all their fleshiness, dry up an awful lot like scabs.
I’ve been thinking to shove them directly into the wounds, and generate a new sort of healing…