When a baby is born, we count. Ten fingers. Ten toes. All is well.
At this point, no one knows what will become the function and
purpose of those fingers and toes. Will those hands become the hands
of a plumber? a chef? a nurse? a father? It is the beginning of a
story. Hands are storytellers with an active role in the story. They
are not merely observers of our lives; they are our essential tools.
As I work daily with metal, building, forging, fabricating, I am
consistently aware of the role of my hands in my process. Attuned
body awareness is healthy, and I am particularly conscious of my
hands. I often joke about my hammers because I am so very fond of
them. “Bury me with my hammers,” I have said in jest. But if you
took my hammers from me, I would make myself one with scrap steel
and wood. I could do this. I would find a way. But my handsA6. My
hands are irreplaceable…