Hands

As life writes our stories, our bodies are the manuscript. It draws wrinkles on our faces along the creases of smiles and frowns and it colors in our skin. Experiences and lifestyle drum the rythym of our gait and shape our posture. Maybe that is why I'm not a telephone person. I need to see someone to really know who I'm talking to. I need to look into their eyes, to read their body language. And I need to see their hands. Hands are one of the things that define us as human beings. Besides the brain, hands are what set us apart from all other animals save the apes. The dexterity and versatility of the human hand has more than compensated for the vulnerable, weak and furless bodies God created us with. They have enabled us to build, throw, write, shoot, and an endless number of feats. Their role in society is second only to speech. A show of hands means consent and opened they reveal intention. Hands communicate, comfort, curse and worship. Hands shaken and hands held have volumes of meaning.

Hands tell a lot about a person. They have been major participants in virtually every enterprize, companions on every adventure and our life experience is carved in their lines, muscle tone and texture. The grip, the calluses, the scars, the skin tone; they bear silent witness of our journey in this world.
Hands can tell a story. I am gathering photos of hands, and I want to use them to paint a picture of their owners. Naturally, I'm biased; I know these people. This isn't science. Maybe it's art.

Maybe that's what hands are. Perhaps they are more than tools that we use to shape our world, as much as an expression of ourselves as our creations.
Maybe they are in and of themselves, works of art.