Table Talk: Seeing the Body

Vision painting by Phillip Hoyle

     Massage has taught me to see. I recall observing Troy. He came to me for massage at the AIDS clinic in one of my first weeks there as a student intern. I watched him approach down the hallway, walking as if he had to think through each stride like a young child learning to take its first steps. I noted the gaunt features of his face and wondered how advanced his disease might be. When he was on the table, his hands and feet looked too large for his slender body. I saw that while his disease seemed to be killing him, his eyes were bright with life and humor.

     While giving massages, I sometimes feel like an artist trying to see just the right line to put on a canvas. I try to imagine and make the right combination of strokes to bring relief to clients in pain. I look for imbalances to work out and shortened muscles to lengthen. I observe posture and gait as clues to guide me into my work. I am alert to my clients’ bodies in order to imagine what will make them feel better. I also look into their eyes to see how much they will be able to respond to the massage.

     Troy’s lively eyes contrasted with the rest of his body. I felt that the massages I would give him could be quite helpful. I noticed that he was looking too, not at his own body but, rather, at mine. Was he hoping to benefit from my robust health? Was he wishing that he had the energy to give massages? Perhaps he simply was enjoying his sight, one of the few systems in his body that was not yet failing, while soaking in the warmth and comfort of my touch. I wondered what the man was seeing.

     The renowned art teacher, Kimon Nicolaides, emphasized to his students, “We see through the eyes rather than with them.” He wanted them to use the other senses in order to check out everything they thought they saw with their eyes. “If you attempt to rely on the eyes alone,“ he warned, “they can sometimes actually mislead you.” In massage, therapists may first see with the eyes, but then they must see with the hands. The first professional masseur I met was blind. He worked in a YMCA spa giving massages. He saw only with his hands, and that sight was sufficient for his work. In a way similar to Nicolaides, my massage teachers knew about what the eyes cannot see. They made us work blindfolded so that we, too, could learn to see with our hands. Sometimes I still close my eyes so my hands can tell me what I am seeing in the bodies of my clients.

     Troy eventually complained of the tingling and pain in his arms and legs, a condition rather common in AIDS sufferers, but that wasn’t until our third session. In the first, due to watching his gait, I suspected the condition. Palpating his body, I discovered that the ligaments and muscles in the lateral and medial compartments of his legs were extremely tight and short. I conjectured they might be hypertoned due to Troy’s constant need to make up for the unreliability of support and balance. Furthermore, my hands observed that Troy was not simply a slender guy but that he had lost almost all the fat from his body. I figured the loss was due to wasting syndrome, a common ailment in people with HIV. Touching him, I realized that his feet were not too large for his body, but, rather, that his muscles had deteriorated. Eyes and hands together discovered the dry patches on his feet, but only my hands could detect the adhesions in his abs. I was using my sense of touch to confirm, correct, and further what my eyes saw. I still am not quite sure what Troy was seeing when he looked at me. He did warn me not to wear spandex shorts when working, thinking it might be detrimental to the health of some of my clients. Funny man. He saw me with his eyes, but he sensed even more through my touch: the warmth of my hands, my skills in soft tissue manipulation, his own relief from pain, and a perception of the unity of his body--left and right, upper and lower. I hope that with some sixth sense he was picking up on my love of massage and of my clients. What I saw when working with him was a changing body, a weakening life, but one that had the important qualities of insight, love, humor, and enjoyment. Massage with Troy was helping me to look, observe, and see the body with all my senses.

A very young Phillip Hoyle at Picture Rocks

For years I visited the petroglyphs west of Montrose.

I studied them, drew them, photographed them and 

eventually made rubbings. Often I wondered what 

the images sought to represent. As I looked deeply and used

them in artwork I got more and more ideas. Using the same design

I would interpret it differently. I had to imagine the world the 

Native artist was experiencing. Similarly I look deeply at my massage

clients to imagine what they experience in order to apply my techniques

in such a way as to bring them relaxation and relief.
Can you find the image on this rock that I used in
the painting at the beginning of this page?