Ode to hands

 

I have always been fascinated with hands. I have been photographing them for a long time. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes like free improvisation, during an extensive shooting or a portrait session.

Hands that create emotions.

Hands photography can arouse a wide scope of emotions.

The hand that rolls the tobacco, gently holds a cigarette, enjoys that burning pleasure,

The sensual hand, the hand that caresses, that awakens in us the fantasy,

The modest hand that hides a face, a mouth, or eyes, overwhelmed by emotion,

The hand that reaches out, salutes, or welcomes, the hand of love, friendship, brotherhood,

The hand that sometimes betrays sadness, anger, violence, and fear.

Hands that tell a story.

Hands know better than anyone how to embark us into the heart of the secrets of our lives.

The hand that weaves, sews, repairs, sorts, polishes, cuts, and feeds,

The hand that learns, writes, counts, handles money,

The knobby hand which has worked hard for a whole life, the hand browned by the sun, the hand soiled deep in its folds,

The wrinkled hand whose lines tell us a lifetime,

The smooth and soft hand of innocent childhood.

Hands that reveal human nature.

Without any control, hands unveil the struggles we have been through, the paths we have crossed, and our life choices.

Hands are randomly shy or bold, skilful or clumsy, neat or bruised, nude or dressed up, knotted or wide open.

Our black, white, golden, or mixed hands proudly reveal our origins.

Take a child by the hand, get out of a hand, give a hand, in safe hands. Read the palm lines. The Hand of God. With the hands, the divine is never far away from the human.