SHARED SKIN

Shared Skin lifts Polaroid emulsions into new homes; water, gravity, and touch write creases as syntax. Images act like migrant bodies marked yet persistent testing who may appear, what is smoothed out, and how repair becomes a public form of care.

In Shared Skin, I lift the thin emulsion of Polaroid photographs, let it float, and place it onto a new support. Water, gravity, and my hands leave creases, shrinkage, and small tears. These are not errors; they are the language of the work. They mark the friction between private memory and public systems.

The images look at civic structures routes, barriers, thresholds, holders of authority places that shape who can move, wait, gather, or be seen. By removing the image from its factory base, the photograph goes through a small migration. It behaves like a body in transit: delicate yet persistent, never fully settled. Each fold records touch; each mend proposes care.

My life has crossed borders, and that history is in the materials. This series turns that experience into form. It asks: Who gets to appear? Who is kept smooth? What kinds of repair can hold when both people and images are easily marked?