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How does the body speak what it feels, when words cannot?


The wetness of cold paint on skin, of dirt falling in between the thighs, of gravel poking through flesh, trashed stairwells slick with despair. My body yearns to be impacted by all elements, to speak the sensation of earthly textures, to risk injury. Blood. Sensorial aliveness.


This is poetry of the body.


model, art director:::: Joui Turandot

photographer and body painter:::: Hussam Awadalla

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