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Hands tell stories. Stories of wolf people and chicken saints. Stories of disasters and redemption, pedicures and pilgrims. An aphid plucked from a tomato plant. God’s index finger reaching down from the sky. A hand becomes a bird. The bird opens its beak to talk. My hands have been telling stories with a paintbrush for twenty years. From history to hula dancing, from the Bible to the beauty shop. Ten deft digits, palm and fist and the opposable thumb. | ||||||||||
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