I pick at the skin on the sides of my nails until it becomes topography, and then I bite it until it's smooth again. I dig out the detritus that collects underneath them, transferring it from nail to nail until it disappears, even when there’s nothing there. I paint them as a method of prevention, but I pick the gel coating off anyway. I crack each knuckle slowly and precisely, bending each finger back at its base until it pops, and then I do it even when I know it won’t. I look at my hands and obsess over how wrinkly they look; how masculine, how feminine. It changes every time I look back.
I look at your hands and wish I had your nail beds.
Single-channel video, 3:03. Originally intended to be viewed individually through a hole in the top of a small box covered in pink foam.