Bruisers
Portraits in Merciless Strokes of Celadon, Mauve, and Puce
“Everybody’s got a plan until they get punched in the face.” Mike Tyson
The blood-stained canvas holds a manifest allure for those who step through the ropes and expose themselves to the unrelenting force of an opponent who likewise seeks transcendence in the chaos of combat. It’s not about self-defense. Nor is it about beating the crap out of someone for money. Deep in the human psyche, ingrained in our culture and genes, lies a primordial need to assert self-determination if not dominance — and survive. Inscrutable to the uninitiated, the precepts of taking a punch endure as a rite of passage, a hallowed touchstone of temperament and mettle. To understand the seduction and the acceptance of such violence, irrespective of meting out retribution, one must delve into the visceral experience of being hit — in the face.
When the fist collides with flesh, a bolt of lightning detonates behind the recipient’s eyeballs. The punch lands, the world spins like a carnival ride, and within a suspended fraction of time — getting “clocked” — the boundaries of ego vanish. Everything is one.
The moment of impact is an awakening. An astonished mind snaps to attention, a heightened state of consciousness. A cocktail of agony…
