Does it not seem to be the most satisfying texture to see and touch, that which is at first glance smooth but at further glance is informed by divots and gaps and gashes from an underneath place?* When the velvet surface of the Above is shaped and molded from the Below, by influences which may believe themselves to be invisible but that can’t help being identified and praised via the gutteral, concave relief moments which they enact?

*Person texture and haircut texture are the same thing

When my fingers are in hair, I feel high emotions re: the person who is letting me touch them. Which sounds and is presumptuous but most of the time I know that I am sensing the craggy interior of their head while my fingers probe and form its above ground counterpart. I wonder if they can know that I am feeling them, during these caretaking windows. I feel angry for no reason, inexplicably melancholy, giddy, mournful, scared, hopeful, romantic. Then they leave and I feel nothing.

The most wondrous elements of people are never what they present with intent, that externalized blueprint which stakes its claim upon the sandy foundations of consciousness. This math-based social method which is consulted so as to ensure a responsible piece of contracted self, of branded personal architecture.

The whole idea that the evident person/haircut is constructed from the ground up, by demolishing old walls and building new ones, by carving right angled corners and referencing measured symmetry when placing bricks- I find this terribly depressing, and false. It is what maybe we all think we are supposed to be working on perfecting- this plodding, sanitized method of self presentation that someone taught us how to value and do when we were baby children, before we could actually see or argue against it.

But why should we keep valuing/doing this when the subterranean influence of authentic self is so full of preternatural imperfection, a true form of metaphysical relief?

I think that haircuts are the most beautiful to me when they are full of quiet chaos spaces just below the surface- resting holes and notches, gaps and chasms, discrete ravines, graceful pits. Hair is like water, it wants to flow over an animate topography. You know when you watch a special body of water move, and the water dips and twirls and roils? That is not because someone is manipulating the surface, cutting shapes and forcing it into this motion from above. This wonderful and singular shaping is a reaction to a wild riverbed beneath! There are holes and wounds in the earth that pull in and push out and generally encourage the water above to take on a personality that is full of real life, of real self.

Sometimes other hairdressers pull open my haircuts and say that I am full of shit because my haircuts are uneven and riddled with asymmetric chiseled bits gaps schisms splits cavities etc., under their smooth surfaces. I think that I am learning to respond to the inherent disorder of the human fabric with a balanced sculptural gesture. Maybe I am full of shit but? I am charging myself with the task of focusing on this fabric, of highlighting it, of weaving it into its own sub-scape. Instead of fearing and denying it, of pushing it into math shapes, of colonizing my peoples’ heads with some antiseptic pre-fab schematic, because I am scared of things that are imperfect. No, I am not scared.

Are humans not the most breathtaking in the quiet moments when our watchful guards are down, and we forget to man the electricity of our contrived external architecture, and the underground bio-luminscence of our true selves flashes up bright pink in the dark? We fall in love with each other easily in these spaces. We can see the fissures and caverns and torn places in the other person and it breaks both of our hearts, because we recognize ourselves in each other, we are free.