In “Dune,” Frank Herbert’s classic science fiction novel, the hero is pain-tested until he’s convinced his gloved hand has burnt to bone.
Such agony is alive today.
A while back, 11 pre-cancerous nodes on my face required assault. Blue Light Treatment uses photosensitizing agents to kill pre-cancerous cells. They’re absorbed and, when strong light is applied, they kill such cells.
Imagine a mask of tanning lights designed to burn through eight layers of skin. I’m aflame. Deep breathing, Buddhist chants and prayer can’t stanch this agony.
My burn lasts 29 minutes, far longer than in “Dune.” My particular treatment can only be applied once in your lifetime.
Afterward, I shed dead skin like snowflakes. Acne scars, surgery stitches and blemishes disappear. My skin’s new and baby red. Regrettably, sunlight can burn it crimson.
Nothing’s more real than pain. This masochistic, Sunshine Superman requires true healing. Yet I found art to be a remarkable balm.
Mornings on Facebook, artist Sandy Robison posts radiant classical paintings. A coral shawl one day, beryl waters the next.
Visual beauty to cure what burns you.
Correction: Sandy Robison’s name was misspelled when this essay was first published. We apologize for the error.
Art Heals. Period.