Clothing leaves marks on our skin. If something is too snug, it begins to dig into the skin. Or if something is meant to fit tight, with elasticity, it leaves an impression throughout the day. I notice the small etched lines from my socks, cuffing and fragmenting up my leg. They will go away soon; they are only barely visible.
I notice the high-rise waist of jeans etched into my stomach, button clasp sinking into my navel. On the inner thigh, there are lines transferred onto my skin–giving and taking, where my curves are more prominent. But it is a give and take- My jeans take on wrinkles where my upper thighs bend. The inner ankle of my pants and shoes is frayed because, apparently, my ankles rub together when I walk or stand. The ends of my sleeves are rugged, stained, and fraying, from a back-and-forth, constant struggle as I work—printing, drawing, writing.