It cuts diagonally from the nape of the neck, across the spine and over to the inner edge of the left shoulder blade. It is interrupted by a section of unharmed skin, pocketing up over the scar, as if it is a bridge. We, the viewer, can infer that this is from the object that caused the wound entering under the skin briefly and then protruding out again. The skin stretches from the regular, unaffected area to the middle, deepest area where it meets to form a ridge. This ridge, the midpoint of the scar, a thin straight line, creates a midpoint in the greater image that the viewers eye keeps returning to. The way the skin is pulled and distorted is beautiful, it evokes the feeling of movement in something that is still and unchanging. The complex visual impression reminds me of a natural land formation, something rooted in nature. However, when you recall that this is a scar permanently on a person’s body, an unusual formation made of skin, the scar becomes grotesque again. This tightrope between beauty and disgust is mirrored in the context under which this scar exists. It is beautiful in that it is a symbol of survival and resilience from a bad experience for the owner of the scar. It is also grotesque, when the infinite possibilities of how it was acquired are pondered, because Miyako provides such a vague description in the works…