hands: a commission

Hands in Guoache

Here’s the thing. I’m self-taught. While there are inherent limitations in those two words, the reason I’ve refused more commissions than I care to admit, there is also some type of freedom there. My relationship with art used to be transactional - I only really enjoyed it if things were going well. Art looks good? I love to paint. Art looks bad? Burn the house down. Kidding. But, something has shifted. Now, I see art as a special gift to me. It has nothing to do with talent, or performance or whether or not it’s good. It’s a gift because it does a thing to my heart. I’m alive, and I know that for sure when I’m making something out of nothing.

Last Fall, a lovely friend and work associate asked me to paint these hands. The photo was small, grainy and not the perfect reference photo for such a task. Still, I couldn’t say no.

Here’s the story:

The daughter, whose hand is on top, took this photo weeks before her mother passed, after a decade long battle with Alzheimer’s Disease. My friend wanted to give the daughter this memorial painting at Christmas. I said yes. I had something to prove to myself, and I had a friend who wanted me to paint them.

Mind you, I’d never painted hands. Hands… are tricky. Take out a piece of paper and try to draw a hand. See what I mean? But I did it, in only 2 days actually.

“Oh honey, she was speechless when she opened it. She put her hands over her face and just didn’t know how to react.”

I delivered the painting to my client and held my breath. Would they hate the painting? Did I make the palette too light and colorful for such a solemn time? Weeks would pass before the final verdict came in. The mother, the grandson and family were emotional. They knew what they were looking at. They recognized those hands.

It was good.

"I text her grandson the picture of the painting. He started crying. He is so touched by the painting.”

I’m glad I said yes. Maybe I will say it more often.

Xx, Callie