Essentially, It Means Nothing

One can read an image many ways or, perhaps, not at all. Regardless of what I mean when I make an image, you're going to see whatever is it your mind lets you see. One might tell stories about this series of images, conjuring up all kinds of interpretations not supported by my intentions or the truth.

The truth is that there are scars on my right wrist, hand and fingers. The scar on my wrist has led some to wonder if there was a suicide attempt. One orthopedic surgeon, who was treating me for a broken elbow, noticing the scar, jumped to the conclusion that I was the victim of a poorly performed surgery to correct a carpal tunnel injury.

The truth is that, in the summer of 1967 at the age of seven going on eight, careless and clumsy, I twice in period of a few short weeks, tumbled through the glass storm door of our house. The first crash resulted in a very superficial wound to my palm that left no scar. It resulted in tears, but no lessons learned, as no more than three or four weeks later, I repeated my cloddish stunt, this time, slashing my wrist nearly to the bone.

What you see is the result of a skilled surgeon who saved my hand. Nothing more, nothing less.

Another scar, the pale region where my palm print appears to have been abraded, was the result of a bicycle crash about 37 years after the storm door incidents. Here, a lesson learned is that on curving descents at 35 miles per hour or more, gravel is not your friend. That mishap actually removed some of the fat the naturally cushions the palm.

Elsewhere, not seen in this series, is a group of small scars on two fingers that resulted from trying to prevent a 8,000 pound sailboat from crashing into another boat.

What have you learned here?

Essentially, it means nothing. And it wasn't what you think.

What have I learned? Caution.

Images from a Leica M8, 90/f4 Elmar head on a Visoflex. Lighting by a bulb no dimmer than my own.