I adorn myself almost daily. A ritual of sorts: of touch, reflection, healing, meditation. Representative of moments, nature, connections that I carry through these times, portraying them onto my body. A maternal instinct of sorts. They recede into me.
An ode to the world still out there, it’s wee wonders which we are an integral part of.
It’s all there if we only take the time to look: insects, birds, hardy weeds keekin’ out the cracks in a wall, blethers, the kindness of strangers. This all surrounds us in a time when we are faced with our own mortality and we are being pushed to our limits, as is our environment.
While the world stopped and the upset and de-stabilising of the pandemic continued to unfold, painting onto myself gave me focus and comfort. I adorn myself for a number of consecutive days, a skin collection of sorts, gently laid upon myself to carry and wear. It has become my new normal and I welcome this practice.