‘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
‘By the end I started to feel like I was holding another persons’ hand – my partners’ – a holding, a caress, comfort, being held. It took the whole time to get there. To be in touch…’ My mother offers her hands again…we stitch, she tells me it is not necessary to talk…I look at the photograph, I have a tangible, physical sense of this person in a place, a memory- as I stitch I re- member. Something Read More
‘I am aware of the emotions of the hands, the stories, the encounters…my whole body wants to respond.’ Whose hands are these? my mother asks…I describe them. Through the conversation the person is evoked, a virtual presence called up. My mother moves her fingers in counterpoint to the stitches, this is collaborative, not passive…we make together. The effort for smaller hands to stretch, to reach a considered, embodied approximation…a virtuality, a search for a pattern
‘Hands are an end and also a beginning. Feeling the outside become an inside, gliding, interlacing, taking weight…the left over varnish on my nails like little islands. The sound of my hands brushing each other, loud in the quiet.’ We admire, enjoy the choreography of the hold- finding it loosely, the gloves so pliable- the hold lives within them- but must be found- searching/ feeling for it.
‘Tectonic Skin: touching, receiving mingling. Whirling eddies of wind between my fingers. Eagles there soaring, surfing through the gaps between pronged fingers. Holding Absence. There is so much pleasure in awareness. There is so much pleasure in awareness. Ah.’