Young hands in Pyjamas, different continents…
Stitching into mannequin hands again. The relative awkwardness of handling these disembodied things. Stitching is methodical, finger-by-finger…the hand assembled in its hold, points of contact between tethered, the stitches are loci in the navigation towards the hold. Though the thing is approximate, the material sensitive and breathing- ghosting around the form.
The intimacy of stitching…a strong sense of emplacement of this person, I know this room. A sense of distance made closer, but the distance remains. Smells of this room, touch, of the sea nearby, the soil – are transmitted in the stitching- maybe into the gloves?! I feel held in this gesture- it is offered up- air mail
It is morning, the weather is wet, the last day of September, it is dark, and we are slow…taking time with the stitches. I notice that as I become more practiced the stitches appear to have a consistent form- a tangle, criss crossed, an intense bundle. It is a quiet practice, focussing on the hands and being careful in our movements and stitches, I’m enjoying the state it invokes. Perhaps because most of the holds are Read More
‘My hands live with me, very close to me, within an infinite space of possibility and wonder. My hands have always bridged me simultaneously in two directions, into communication towards the other and myself. Sometimes they hold the physical tools that amplify or concentrate my attention, intention, and commitment to a task. At times no other instrument is needed, and in those situations my hands appear as infinite vessels… they can surprise me being flexible, strong, Read More