but lean and soft.
The hand that never touched,
when you so expected it to
Truth flows from the mind; the hand transports it into being.
Remarkable hands, storied hands.
Hands, hands can build.
Hands can mold, shape, and speak.
Hands can grasp for the heavens, touch it and believe in the make believers
Heart and soul become one as fingers scrawl quickly, feverishly.
Hands live to caress and love.
Hands live to fight and die.
Forever living hands, forever exploring are hands.
(* Pieces of poem 'Hands' by Bruce Alan Humphrey)
All photography by Hedi Slimane.
Hedi Slimane and i actually have another thing in common.
More about that later.