Scar Trek: Thick Skinned Thin

John Vettese sees what develops

by John Vettese

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Published: May 19, 2009

(CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VERSION)

Our reflex reaction to scars tends to be negative.

Physically, we associate them with loaded adjectives like "disfigured" or, for the particularly callous, "freakish." Metaphorically, the word "scar" becomes synonymous with emotional trauma. And were it not for trauma, scars would not exist. The higher the degree of trauma, the more pronounced the scar, and the more it becomes a sight people are not used to. Thus, it's understandable that our impulse would be either amazed stupefaction or awkward discomfort.

Philadelphia-based photographer Amie Potsic challenges this by presenting scars as things of fragile beauty, looking to uncover the narratives they embody. The series Thick Skinned Thin makes up half of Potsic's "Skin Stories" exhibit, which shows at Northern Liberties' Area 919 gallery through the end of the month.

For the project, she enlisted nine participants who posed nude while she shot abstract black-and-white images of their scars. Some resulted from burns, others from surgery, others from disease. More than half of the subjects got their scars in their adult life; a few have lived with them since childhood.

These photos are blown up into sizable silver gelatin prints, mounted to metal backings and hung freely from the wall. No frame separates the viewer from the images, forcing them to more directly encounter a sight that might make them uncomfortable; the large format sharpens the detail in rough patches of skin and masses of tissue.

But Potsic's point is that neither the images, nor the scars they display, should be troubling. She wants you to look beyond, to join her in discovering their aesthetic qualities. A burn scar spreads across a woman's lower torso and hip in one image (the work is hung without titles); her right leg is raised, and the less elastic scar tissue has become an intricate series of folds amid smooth skin. Cropped close, it resembles delicate, ornate paper.

A work accident resulted in another subject's scar (pictured, p. 36). Potsic focuses on the forearm and bicep placed alongside a muscular chest, but lights the image in a way that blends the scar with the skin around it so the blemish doesn't reveal itself immediately. Likewise, a woman's scar from "non-invasive surgery" is shown as a speck just below her navel.

Other scars on display are more overt, and sometimes more shocking. A woman's buildup of scar tissue after breast implant surgery is thick and roughly defined. A man's shoulder is a topographical map of grafted skin after an outbreak of bacterial meningitis.

In these images, Potsic's aim of making scars less bewildering doesn't fully succeed, at least not on a visual level. In the exhibit's audio component, one of the participants sees the photo of herself and says, "It looks scary to me, but it doesn't feel scary on my body."

But this audio contributes greatly to Potsic's other goal — discovering the stories behind the scars. Participants are jovial, discussing their personal scar stories with candor and grace.

The man with the meningitis outbreak (whose amputated legs are the focus of another photo) laughs and swears and tells of nerve-wracking hospital visits and distressing doctors like he's chatting with buddies over beers.

One woman likens her scar to melted wax.

A husband speaks of the radiance of the scar his wife got at age 7 when her bathrobe caught on fire; he admits he likes to sneak peeks at it when she steps out of the shower.

"[This photo] makes the scar looks graceful," the wife agrees. "Whereas sometimes they just look awkward."

Hearing this makes the scars less bewildering. If there was any level of shock or even repulsion upon entering the exhibit, the voices of those who live with the scars every day will ease the viewer to the level of comfort the subjects obviously feel within their own skin.

(j_vettese@citypaper.net)

Skin Stories Through May 30, Area 919, 919 N. Fifth St., 215-627-3311, area919.com

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