Donald Gladstone Rodney 'In the house of my father'

I'm so touched by this piece by Donald Gladstone Rodney. I had seen this piece a few times over the years, but for some reason at this moment it really hit me. it's interesting to me because this tiny fragile house is made from the artist's skin, which would usually put this photo in the category of 'abject' art, but that isn't where this belongs. It is tender and beautiful and shows the viewer his vulnerability, seems to show you how fragile and possibly tenuous he felt in his childhood or maybe just his life generally. The skin used to make the house was removed in an operation needed because of his sickle cell anaemia, which he died from in 1988 at just 37 years old. I can feel his pain in the image- the soft opening of his hand to reveal this tiny treasure, built of the fabric of that same hand. There seems to be this kind of quiet grief to the image, as if the brokenness of the house is a commentary on his childhood, on the collapsible nature of his own home, not in accusation but in observation of a lack of stability in his life. It is so understated but hugely emotive. I have also been thinking about skin recently, about how I can describe and use the skin in my work, softly, gently, to tie the work together or just to form a membrane between the organs and the outside world.