Much to my loving husband’s chagrin, I adore tattoos. I have several and the collection has grown in recent years. With age I have found a deeper connection with my body, my skin. In spaces where I once wished to obscure my stories, I now find beauty in the reveal. I enjoy the feeling of the art being tattooed. There is something about the needle work that calms and serves as markers of time, moments, and meaning.
The relationship between my body and me is complex at best. The empowerment derived from having a history I control written upon it is more meaningful than I ever imagined.
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object of memory 