Skin-Tree

Skin-Tree began with a simple question: why do we accept the roughness of tree bark but reject the same textures on human skin? Starting from my own insecurities, I photographed my scars and merged them with bark. This led to interviews with 30 participants, who shared their own marks and stories. Through these “skin-tree” images, many began to see their imperfections not as flaws—but as natural, living traces of time, identity, and resilience.

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Bark Like Me – Full Book View

Bark Like Me is a hand-bound book composed of over 100 pages of visual experiments and reflections. Arranged in a spiral, its form echoes tree rings—symbolizing time, memory, and the quiet process of self-acceptance.

Cover Detail – Layered Material

The book cover is composed of three different layers of paper: transparent, textured, and printed. This layered structure reflects the book’s core idea—how human skin and tree bark both carry time, protection, and complexity within their surfaces.

Inside the Book – Stories Beneath the Surface

These pages document 30 individuals—each sharing a part of themselves through words and skin. I photographed the marks they felt uneasy about, then paired them with textures from trees. The book holds these visual “skin-tree” compositions alongside their personal reflections. Layers of translucent paper slow the experience, allowing the viewer to uncover each story gradually—like peeling back protective layers, or entering someone’s inner world. The spiral structure, bound by hand, reinforces a sense of time looping and unfolding. What begins as an aesthetic encounter becomes a process of empathy, where skin is not judged, but understood—both as memory and as landscape.

Skin Tree Forest

Self-Observation – The First 50 Skin-Trees

Before inviting others into the process, I began by turning the camera toward myself—documenting 50 parts of my own skin I once felt uncomfortable with. I blended each with bark textures, curious whether this visual merging could shift my perception. At first, I easily found areas I disliked. But as the images accumulated, something changed: the textures began to feel natural, even gentle. What began as self-critique quietly transformed into a form of care. These early experiments became the foundation for the entire project—revealing how perspective, repetition, and nature can reshape how we see ourselves.

Closing Reflection

This project is not a solution, but an invitation—to see differently, to touch more gently, to consider that what we often hide might hold the most meaning. Through textures of bark and skin, I’ve come to understand that imperfections are not separate from us—they are us. They tell of time, memory, and resilience. I hope these images offer not answers, but space: to reflect, to soften, and perhaps, to accept.