Original mixed media and oil painting
24 x 18 inches
Gallery wrapped canvas, wired and ready to hang
What stories live within the deep grooves and lines of these hands? If the callouses and hardened nail beds could speak, where would they say they’ve been?
I can see it. Homemade tortillas pressed and cooked on a cast iron stove over an open flame. Laundry scrubbed clean in the river, soap suds clinging to her fingers. The scars on her fingertips from years of playing the harp. The hair she must have braided. The hugs she must have given.
So many stories. So many moments held in the grooves of her skin.
As a nurse, one of the hardest things about COVID was not touching people. Placing my hands on someone is a part of my practice. It’s how comfort is offered. It’s how care is felt.
I imagine these hands would have longed to comfort others with their warm, calloused touch. The scratchy feeling of her fingertips resting on the shoulder of her granddaughter. The bread she made. The lives she touched without ever needing words.
I’ve always been fascinated by older people’s hands. The history in them. The experiences they’ve carried. The love they’ve given. And what an honor it will be one day for my own hands to have stories like these to tell.
Original mixed media and oil painting
24 x 18 inches
Gallery wrapped canvas, wired and ready to hang
What stories live within the deep grooves and lines of these hands? If the callouses and hardened nail beds could speak, where would they say they’ve been?
I can see it. Homemade tortillas pressed and cooked on a cast iron stove over an open flame. Laundry scrubbed clean in the river, soap suds clinging to her fingers. The scars on her fingertips from years of playing the harp. The hair she must have braided. The hugs she must have given.
So many stories. So many moments held in the grooves of her skin.
As a nurse, one of the hardest things about COVID was not touching people. Placing my hands on someone is a part of my practice. It’s how comfort is offered. It’s how care is felt.
I imagine these hands would have longed to comfort others with their warm, calloused touch. The scratchy feeling of her fingertips resting on the shoulder of her granddaughter. The bread she made. The lives she touched without ever needing words.
I’ve always been fascinated by older people’s hands. The history in them. The experiences they’ve carried. The love they’ve given. And what an honor it will be one day for my own hands to have stories like these to tell.