Most semesters, I end up painting a self portrait. I've painted my face several times and I'm pretty sick of it, so I painted my hands in beginning painting.
Afterward I came across a little note I meant to make into a scrapbook page along with a photo of my hands. (I haven't scrapbooked in a long time...) Here's how it goes:
These Hands
These hands do not often get manicures or even hand cream. They usually have uneven nails and ragged cuticles. They keep their own box of bandaids in the bathroom.
These hands are strong. These hands can be gentle. They can cook meal, pat a back, or steer a car. They can wring out wet cloths, mop floors and paint delicate paintings.
These hands love to hold pens and pencils and paintbrushes and needles. These hands suffer horribly when their owner is nervous, bored, or anxious.
These hands held 3 just born babies and felt each part of their tiny warm bodies just to be sure all was right. These hands rocked and tickled and spanked and saddled. They nursed booboos, opened hundreds of juice box straws, braided hair, wiped away tears and held smaller hands and even learned to speak a little sign language.
These hands made customized dresses, dozens of Halloween costumes, painted ghouls' faces and carved pumpkins, decorated Christmas cookies and lovingly wrapped each present.
These hands have felt the sympathetic, loving squeeze of teenage children and recognized the adults they are trying to become.
These hands are not beautiful to anyone but me. They are not small and delicate like my grandmother's or soft and smooth like my mother's. But they are mighty. They never saw anything that they didn't think thy could do.
So there we go.My hands represent me more than my face. Now...what to do with a painting of giant hands.
