My hands

I was born with a different set of fingers and toes, due to the Amniotic Band Syndrome.

Those of you who’ve met me probably have noticed, or maybe you’ve seen the paintings of my hands and their unusual shape- so I thought it was time to give them a proper introduction!

In my case, the bands wrapped around my fingers and toes, constraining them to short and unusual shapes. It was a surprise at birth, as it hadn’t been detected during Xrays, and doctors there had not heard of the condition before.

I was sent to a specialist clinic in Paris where a surgeon followed my case from a few weeks old to my seventeenth birthday.

Some surgeries were urgent (releasing the last bands so the blood would flow sufficiently), some were practical (called syndactyly, they separated my fingers to increase my span; as well as a toe graft at 2yo to compensate for a missing thumb and help me with my grip), but some surgeries were unfortunately more for aesthetic decisions (by this I mean someone else’s vision of how my hands should look like).

If most of the surgeries helped me functionally, each of them were challenging. From the scary hospital stays, the painful cicatrisation, the rehabilitation..all of that squeezed in during holiday time. Yet the hardest was to find my hands changed (disfigured) every other year, having to relearn how to relate to them, visually and also on a sensory level, as the nervous sensations would be displaced. 

I was a joyful kid and very brave (children are incredibly resourceful) but I also learned to minimise my struggles and suck it up, with an internalised belief that something wasn’t right with me; that I needed to be fixed, to conform and saw my hands as monstrous. All of that has been resurfacing in the last few years, in overwhelming ways at times (therapy and friendships are of great help!).

Painting played a big role in all those feelings coming back to the surface. At first, I’d spontaneously use my hands and feet as opportunities to draw from life, just to train my observational skills.

Then I realised that they also held a large part of my identity, so I started to nervously introduce them into paintings (firstly with the two self-portrait above, painted in 2018).

It’s a challenge in two steps: painting them and sharing the paintings. But it’s important to me so I keep at it.

And there’s this awkward thing, of not being able to use myself for reference in a straightforward manner: I have to decide whether or not I give this reference some fingers or toes, whether it’s a proclaimed self-portrait or whether I pretend to make it a total stranger. I do not like this part of my process.

And there’s this other odd feeling (an understatement) of not remembering the stages my hands went through. So I look through my childhood photographs and paint them, hoping to put the puzzle back together.

But that never seems to be enough, I still grieve the gaps in my memory. On top, if I were to remember, there’s the fact that I couldn’t share this memory with anyone. Parts of me are gone forever. With that in mind I tried in January to retrace the various stages my right hand went through, with gouache. You can see the attempt just below, with on the left my hand as it is now, and to the right going back to what I’m imagining -more that remembering- she used to look like.

I won’t put too many words on this painting as it’s still too fresh, but I can imagine it’s only the beginning of such exploration for me. I’d like to be able to express in paint how my hands feel and felt, my experience of the hospital… To be continued!

What I just wrote is a bit heavy, fair to say! But there’s also so much joy linked to this part of me: I’m absolutely fascinated by ‘normal’ hands and love painting them.

Because it’s quite mysterious to me, and I can’t relate to the experience of embodying long digits, I love to look at them as an abstract shape, full of gesture and expression. (I could never stress enough how grateful I am for life models, for offering us such precious moments of observations, whether we’re focusing on the universal or the unique).

Whether it’s painting from life or going at it from my imagination, it feels as if I’m trying to crack a complex puzzle; and if I manage to do so, it feels magical.

I hope all of that also give you a better insight into my life modelling practice. I took on this job four years ago, and one of the main reason was to counteract my first belief of ‘I shouldn’t be imposing my difference to others’. My logical brain knew that there was nothing wrong with me modelling but I had to fight against the fears. There’s been some challenging sessions, but as for painting it feels important for me to do it. Equally for myself and to allow more diversity in the drawing room -something that is still cruelly lacking.

I’ve written about my experience as a life model it in a previous newsletter, click here if you’d like to read more.

And last year I encouraged myself one step further in my relationship to my hands and in fighting the belief that there’s something wrong with their appearance: I got myself a tattoo! I had worked with David Kodak (Mono) on a chest project the year before and fell in love with his process. He envisions the body like a canvas, the session are filled with wonderful conversations while he looks for the flow and shapes, the one preexisting of the body and the one he creates. Asking him to work on my hands was very emotional and I’m so glad of how warm he made me feel throughout the process. For once I had something done to my hands that was celebrating their shapes and not trying to change them.

So here it is, some words trying to share with you this very important facet of myself. One that has raised challenges and still does at time, while simultaneously fills me with gratitude for all that I’m getting out of them: resourcefulness, resilience, some empathy and hopefully a good amount of humour!

I do love my hands -with the word love meaning some very complex and contradictory feelings. Which I think it’s a very true way to love.

I do love my hands -and I give myself the space for this love to encompass and accept great complexities and contradictions. Which I think is a very real way to love.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart if you’ve read this ♥