you can think of it like laundry.
a little doesn't equate to any big deal, but suddenly, you can find yourself with a huge pile in your laundry room, and you might find yourself saying hey wait a minute.
at first the laundry was easy.
whistle while you work.
but then it started to pile up.
and the laundry basket itself got heavier.
the skin wasn't red at first.
or even pink.
now, i've got about 23 loads of laundry brewing up in here.
when you were younger, perhaps your tan line was a kind of badge of honor.
something you worked toward.
showed your buds or boyfriend with a kind of pride.
but think of the reverse.
the burn on the opposite area of where your tan might have been.
so instead of a triangle on your breast, from your bikini top, with the tan line surrounding the pale interior,
how about a red awkward cinder block there, complete with irregular features on it's surface, but with hard lines defining the edges, so clearly positioned within the tattoos placed to mark the radiation field?
the contours so unnatural.
even kind of intrusive.
imagine a rectangle, beginning at your clavicle, going over to your armpit, down the side, under your breast along the rib, and up through the center, meeting at the clavicle again.
this is your radiation tan (burn) line.
when i met with the radiation oncologist on thursday, after our visit, he asked, so how long are you going to keep your hair pink?
i said probably for the duration of treatment.
he said of course.
he said do you have any more questions for me?
i said well.
it's not really a question, i'm just so curious about how an inorganic form, with such straight hard lines, can appear on an organic form such as the body, which is innately curved.
he said get out of here.
you're talking about art now.
i said uh huh.