Susan Butler

RS: In what ways have you experienced touch, or how has touch changed for you through the pandemic?
SB: Before the pandemic, I was comfortable getting frequent hugs from friends and family. During the pandemic, I found that the people I saw the most were my medical practitioners. While I had a partner at home for our everyday touch, anything beyond that became foreign and strange. I haven't always been one for physical intimacy beyond a primary partner, and the pandemic may have made that tendency stronger.


RS: How do you define and or understand resilience as it relates to owning an identity that is marginalized?
SB: It is the ability to wake up and put one foot in front of the other, without any guarantee that the day will be any easier than the last. It is the strength to repeatedly do what is right, not always what's easy.


RS: How does Austin play a role in your experience of touch and or resiliency?
SB: I moved to Austin as a kid (in 1996) and came from a place that didn't greet strangers with hugs. To me, Texas and Austin is a place of friendly, platonic touch. It's where you learn to hug someone hello and goodbye. As far as resiliency - this city has been through a lot. Ups and downs with tech booms and busts, floods upon floods, and freezing storms. While it's not a perfect place, it does seem to be a city full of people who keep trying.


RS: What was your experience in creating your skin prints?
SB: It let me get closer to my skin. I found it fascinating peering over my skin with 'new eyes', trying to find a spot that would print well and had some meaning. I found I also got stuck wondering if I should include tattoos.... (I ended up not using the tattooed skin).


RS: Where on your body did you choose to create your prints from? Why were/are these spots important to you? 
SB: I chose my knees. They've always been host to large scars, and a spot that I've never had concern about showing. When doing the prints, I had just recently received a new scar on my knee that was in the process of healing. (My friend's dog on a retractable leash got very excited and ran around me, slicing my leg with the leash cord.) It's funny to me that this large scar that has been confused for surgery scars came from an excited, tiny dog. And that it's next to the crepe-paper skin of a major childhood bike accident, and a scar from that time I fell while tubing. The knees just seem to attract stories. And gravity.