By Valerie White

April 23, 2018


They surround her eyes, her nose, and her mouth. She likes to touch them, to run her fingers over them, to try and count them, although it is nearly impossible to see where each one starts and ends. Each wrinkle seemed to appear with a major life event: during graduate school, when she married, when her children were born, when each of her parents died, when she retired, when her husband left. She had earned them. After a certain number of wrinkles, they came more slowly; mostly the ones she had became a little deeper, a little longer as her experiences settled into her being. 

She has noticed that facial wrinkles are different from those on her breasts, her arms and on the backs of her hands: the latter are fine and form lace-like patterns. She knows they came from spending too much time in the sun, are due to ultraviolet damage to the collagen fibrils in the dermis. But who wouldn’t have wanted to spend more time in the sun? 

She likens wrinkles to those marks made by a sculptor who starts with a block of wood or marble. At first they are shallow and tentative and smooth as the artist creates the initial form of the statue. But then, as time goes on, the marks become deeper and more exaggerated, as the final form of a piece is achieved, as the artist is nearing her final conception of the work. As she nears perfection.

comments powered by Disqus « Back to Beautiful-Things

Newsletter Sign Up

shadow shadow