Hands

Hands

They are how I communicate who I believe God to be. Before I ever see what I am doing with my eyes, they see. I hold art pieces and feel every contour and I know if they are right. I use them in place of sand paper as I put layers of finish on wood and gunstocks, feeling the growth rings from the tree and the gentle nuances that make that tree unique. I have held the faces of my babies in them and the person who knows me better than myself. They are my hands.

Nothing is more important to an artist than their very own, creating, molding, working hands. Leonardo da vinci said that “Where the spirit does not work with the hand, there is no art.” And now, my very own hands, my God blessed, creating hands are killing me more than ever and I will see a hand specialist soon. Too soon and not soon enough.

Doctors had told me that the carpal tunnel surgery was a failure from 2 years ago and I ignored them. All the surgeries had added up to enough. And the lumbar fusion according to my pain management specialist is still at least a year from being healed totally and in his words, if ever.

Hmmm. We live in the unknowing. We believe we know. We really haven’t a clue. We search for meaning in that which has no explanation.

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