“Like the air we breathe, we take our skin for granted . . . Yet it is remarkable; it mitigates and ameliorates the sometimes harsh world we dwell in, and is at the interface of so much of what we encounter. It is our border, the edge of ourselves, the point where we meet our universe.”Original Skin is at times a scientific study, remarking on the biological magic behind the human body’s largest organ. At others it becomes an anthropological survey, dissecting separate societies’ attitudes towards bare bodies, and the motives behind cultural rituals such as tattoos. However, Original Skin is, above all, a celebration of the human body; its tone one of absolute awe for the simultaneously protective and fragile membrane that divides us all from the world that surrounds us. Maryrose Cuskelly’s book—in its examinations of everything from tickling to Botox to books bound in human derma—is a delightful meditation on skin.
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Maryrose Cuskelly. Original Skin
Skin: the body’s envelope
Touch Me
Melting Pot: the colour of skin
O, No! It is an Ever-fix’d Mark: scars, moles, and other blemishes
Peculiar to Humanity: blushing and tickling
Unclean, Unclean: skin and disease
She’s Got Perfect Skin
The Lure of the Tattoo
Alison Whyte’s Boots: skinning and the human pelt
Bound in Human Skin: anthropodermic bibliopegy
You’re Nicked: the romance of fingerprints
Peering into the Abyss: burns injuries
Leaves on the Tree of Life: the Donor Tissue Bank of Victoria
Second Skins: semi-living sculpture
The Skin We’re In
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Table of Contents
Dedication
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According to our predilections, it may be the smoothness of the underside of our lover’s upper arm, the hairiness of other parts, or the contrast between the two that intoxicates us. In our desire to get even closer, we attempt to penetrate the barrier of the skin through deep kissing and sexual intercourse so that, literally and figuratively, our bodies are joined.
And it’s not simply the feel, but also the smell of another’s skin that can transport us. I can recall vividly the sweet sweatiness, completely devoid of staleness, exuded by a young man whom I studied with decades ago. On hot Brisbane mornings, he would arrive at college, having ridden his bicycle up the myriad hills of the western suburbs, and arrive in time for our first class of the day, wet and glistening, and smelling divine.
