My Father’s Hands

Hi friendly friend,

I recently started this blog as a way to share more about my art practice and what I have coming up. Today I want to take time to share in something that I started thinking about a few months back but was and am still unsure what to really do with it. I feel like I’m a visual thinker, so often when I’m coming up with ideas for things I want to express there is a strong sense of visuals and materials or media type in mind. Then from there I go off and do my research and test it out to bring the idea to life. This time words came to me, I’ve never thought of myself as being very good at writing, so I was surprised when it all came to me as something to be written down. It is a deeply personal story, and for now, I want to continue to sit with it and hold it with me before anything final comes of it, maybe nothing ever will! Maybe it’s just meant to be kept for me, in my mind and heart :). that’s ok too.

Sharing my words with you here and a sketch that I made to accompany it.

I look at the split dry skin around my thumbnail, and I find evidence of my father. I remember the smallest details about him. The cracked dry skin is sore, with some peeling.

His hands were large, sore, dry, and they hurt.

I keep looking at my sore dry thumb, it hurts a bit. 

I wonder if it’s sad, my memory, but several memories come back with this sore dry thumb.

His were much worse, I think caused by stress, he was stressed a lot.

I’ve been stressed lately, I wonder if that’s why my hand looks like his.

Lotsa love to you <3,

Jda

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