My Hands

I have to get a Kodak-type account to post pictures. Today I was working on my pottery and I realized that I identify myself more through my hands than my face. My work isn't great, OK? I paint and draw pretty well, and I feel like I am on the cusp of breaking out with my drawing. I did some mail art to a friend on Friday and my husband said that he wishes that I was mailing things to him and that he inspired it! LOL

Anyway, while I was working on my pottery, I asked Peaches to do some snaps of it and she took a few of my hands and I said no, no, let me put this down and she said it was more interesting and kept shooting. How is it that my hands caked with clay (and India ink from yesterday) are closer to my self image than my face? My fingernails are dirty.

There was a time when I kept my nails beautiful all the time-- up until I was pregnant with TeaCup and my husband got laid off, I had kept my fingernails manicured every week. My manicurist was from Vietnam and he was brilliant and had an engineering degree from over there before he came here. He would tell me how much he loved seeing me and he'd hand me an article about something like crime rates in our state, a recent business story or whatever and I'd read it before I saw him. We'd talk about anything other than what you usually hear in a beauty salon. I never missed those appointments for eight years! It was therapy but I wasn't talking about me-- I was smart for that half hour that he saw me!

Anyway, I never went back to getting them done after I had TeaCup. When my husband resumed working, we were just weeks from losing the house and we had to play catch up for six months. It never seemed right going back. My hands are far from ugly-- but they are useful now. I never have all the terra cotta out from under them, or the ink stains off my skin.
They do not look as full of character as I think they are, but I think they are fascinating-- I think that everyone has fascinating hands. . .