My belly crumples when I try to touch my foot

Oil on plywood, 125 × 125 × 5 cm.

Whenever I trace how my spine is moving, gentle cracks echo between my bones. Fingers reaching toward my feet as I stand, my back curves like a centipede trying to roll into itself. I’m not sure if I’m turning into flesh that holds many memories, or if I’m searching for magical crystals hidden in the mountain crevices. "My Belly Wrinkles When I Try to Touch My Toes" remains within the realm of bodily discomfort, where identity and memory, translated into the language of painting, intertwine with the embodied experience of intimate relationships.