As my Dad has aged and, I suppose like anyone of his age, his skin has become more fragile and brittle, and very slightly translucent. With medication, he bruises easily and the bruises last longer. I think he takes it all in stride; he’s always been a quiet, hands-on guy; spent his working life outdoors fixing heavy machinery, so he’s never quibbled over minor accidents.

Sure, he screams in anger! But who wouldn’t? And yep... I picked that one up from him.

I’ve noticed more and more that my skin is similar to his. As his eczema has worsened, I’ve noticed the same appearing on my hands.

My Dad removes the dead skin with his pocket pen knife—an old one I never remember him being without, with it’s slender blade now sharpened to half the original height.

... 

I guess in this I’ve tried to get close enough that the pencil marks become symbols in their own right, whilst also representing the image. Like the renewing skin, the marks are never fully a homogenous part of the image. They are a skin of their own, and also represent one. Well, maybe...