Background & Overview

When I first began experimenting with body modification in the early 1990’s, the most common reactions were hostility and derision. I was called a freak, spit on, followed in stores, and seated in the back of restaurants (if I was seated at all). When I told a teacher someone sped up to hit me in a crosswalk, his response was: “When you present yourself a certain way, you have to expect a certain reaction…you need to pick and choose your battles.” Despite this, I found the acquisition of modifications to be a source of strength; they became an integral part of my personal identity, and the inspiration for numerous academic and artistic pursuits. I am now in my 30’s and heavily modified. Current visible permanent modifications include a full sleeve tattoo on my right arm, scarifications and tattoos on my left, ¾” earlobes, and tattoos on my chest and back.

For the past decade, I’ve lived primarily in San Francisco. When the occasional need to leave my little liberal bubble arose, I was surprised to discover modifications gradually becoming more acceptable, and enmity being replaced with tolerance and interest. Last year, I moved to Chicago and for the entirety of my first Midwest winter, consoled myself with thoughts of “Summer will eventually come.” Everyone said Chicago summers were wonderful. And they were right. There’s a fabulous electricity in the air; every block is saturated with laughing neighbors and hibachi smoke. I like Chicago, and I like people, which is why I’ve been extremely puzzled by the exhaustion, irritability, introversion and mild anxiety I’ve felt for several months. I genuinely enjoy spending time with friends, but it often takes tremendous energy just to go to work, the gym, run errands and come home. I don't go out by myself very often.

“I only walk along the lake when you’re in town,” I recently said to my friend Nick. “It’s pretty, but there are just too many people.” That’s when it hit me: on the way to meet him, several strangers approached me with questions, or shouted comments. I recently mentioned to another friend that I’d never gotten so many questions about my arms as I have this summer, and on a long ride home one late night, I zipped up my hoodie on a hot train, inserted ear buds from a dead i-Pod and stared at the same page in a book I was too tired to read because I didn’t have the energy to answer “Did that hurt?" "How did you do it?" “How long did it take?” "What does your family think?" or the ambiguously creepy “So, where else are you pierced?” To always be looked at, to not have control over who is looking and how they see… I think I might understand why some cultures believe taking a picture captures a piece of the soul.

It’s disorienting to realize something I derive power from has the capacity to profoundly weaken, and what was once a source of autonomy and authenticity currently feels limiting, repetitive, and superficial. I don’t feel like I have the ‘right’ to complain. This is a life I willingly chose; physical and intellectual curiosity is the primary force that propels it. It would be remarkably hypocritical to condemn it in others. People are largely polite and respectful, and I try to be polite and respectful in return, recognizing I may be their only contact with a heavily modified person. With this in mind, I began looking for ways to regain equilibrium. My first idea was to orchestrate a piercing ritual/performance. I’ve done several, but lack the community in Chicago. My next thought was to acquire another semi-permanent/permanent modification, but there’s nothing I really want right now. After nearly two decades, when I’m ready for modification, I know it, and I know now is not the time. Then I was struck by the consumerist mentality of that notion: when life is lacking something, ‘fix’ it by purchasing a service or commodity.*
I realized the best, and hardest thing to do would be…nothing physical. The challenge lay not in altering my body, or retreating from my environment, but in discovering a new way to interact with it. I began looking outward, examining the people who were looking at me. Who were they? What did they want to know? How did they approach me? How did they depart?

Which brings me to Curio City. The first phase of this project is simply a log of my public interactions and private observations. I’m envisioning this project to be an examination of performativity and repetition, the boundaries of civility, and the dynamics of urban social conditioning. To maintain consistency I will wear a variation of black jeans and a black t-shirt every day, and no make-up,** and when the weather brings the project to a close, I’ll examine my results, and figure out what to do with them.
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*I will admit to buying a bottle of St. John's Wort in a moment of frustration and pissiness, which I exchanged for vitamins the next day.

**Since I want to focus solely on reactions to the body as it exists in its naturally unnatural state, I'm reluctant to introduce any variables that may influence people's responses. I believe because people ‘read’ me as a petite white woman, they feel entitled and comfortable approaching me. Wearing ‘female’ clothing (i.e. skirts, fishnets) and make-up, has always been for aesthetics, not gender identification, and I feel no need or desire to amplify the perception of femininty.