I originally left this in a comment on Gloria Liu’s blog.
Scars are trophies of a life well-lived. It’s no different than a book with dog-eared pages, really — there’s a certain degree of love and respect for material things (bodies included) that results in a bit of damage-by-familiarity. Those little imperfections, the same things that make art art, incidentally, serve to remind us of the moments that define us.
Just like I can’t trust a craftsman whose tools show no signs of wear, I have a difficult time understanding someone who has gone through life without some sort of battle scar to show for their efforts.
I feel like there’s something here that could be expanded into a much larger piece. But I need to dwell on it for a lot longer a period of time.