The Hands of An Artist

I think that the hands of an artist are the best type of hands.
I love seeing the hands of a painter,
Beautiful paint-smudged hands.
The grime of paint stuck under the short fingernails.
Grime that can only be removed with turpentine.

It’s beautiful.

I love seeing the hands of one who draws.
Thin, limber hands.
Quick in sketches, smudged dark greys and blacks
By the pencil marks and charcoal handled each day.
Skilled hands that can move quickly to create a perfect sketch.

It’s beautiful.

I love seeing the hands of one who writes.
Rough, calloused hands,
The tips of each finger dyed
Black and grey
With pencil marks.
The side of the lower fingers smudged with the lead
Of when one writes quickly.

It’s beautiful.

I love the hands of one who sews,
Quick, small hands that can weave through the many
Threads and yarns
To create something both beautiful and useful.
Though these hands are imperfect, as well,
With small holes near the fingertips were one has pricked themselves
No doubt,
Countless times,

It’s beautiful.

I just love looking at people’s hands
Because each pair of hands tell a story.
The construction worker,
Or the wood worker,
Or a fisherman,
With their rough, calloused hands.
Palms with skin worn thick as to help them with their jobs.
Blisters once cracked, once bleeding,
Now healed and toughened.
These are artists, too.
Therefore, I think the hands of one
Can tell their entire story.

And I think that’s beautiful.