It made me remember how often I cross my arms when I’m sitting, and stick my hands in pockets when I’m standing (and scuff my heels – another pair of trainers worn through recently)
Inheritance, a procession of hands…always touching themselves, both through their own material constituents and through the other things that in turn give them touch. ‘We’ve all gone through times of every morning waking up scared…And yet, by the time I’d be standing in the middle of the room, I wouldn’t be scared anymore…It’s not surprising that the trouble I was having was showing itself in that movement of passage from sleep to wakefulness.’ Simone Forti. Handbook Read More
the hands are held in an envelope of touch from the gloves themselves. They bring an altered, enfolded sensation world to the joined hands. A tethered accompaniment to the arrangements of fingers and hands, they are self- binding and yet there is a micro motility from the stitches and the cotton material, that allows a kind of breathing. A motile world within a soft material skin, epidermis- exoskeleton.
Practicing drawing the moving arrangements of my left hand…a refrain, watching a part of my self as other…a stranger on the end of my wrist. Barad’s notion of self-touching; touch touching itself, an infinitude of others
the mannequins are actively – passive and dis-embodied things. holding and arranging the hands of another with the wooden dummy hands, the hands of someone who is not present, but becomes present in the physical arranging of his hands and fingers… spooky, spectral
the feeling of bracing – I could lift this body up in one hand, sprung on the wrist the soft touch of fingertip on one hand, the dense, tougher skin on the other the special care for grazed palms the cool of fingertips, the smooth lake surface of backs of hands, the heat of the palms how my hands are a part of my body I take aesthetic pleasure in