A Personal Gesture 2020 - present
2023 © rinihurkmans
Arm and hand
Never before in my life have I become so aware of this part of my body as I am now. The arm, eventually ending in the hand. Shortly after I received A Personal Gesture from Anne, I broke my wrist. A stupid fall. Of course. Why? Well, finally in June 2021, we could go to art again, to museums, theatres, concerts. My hands itched. After the gym and the brothel, art was now allowed to open its door again. Fortunately! After another appointment in Amsterdam, I hurried to de Appel, then wanted to go to Eye quickly. In my haste to find the entrance to de Appel, I tripped over a paving stone. I fell. On my hand, which absorbed the blow. No pain, just a bit swollen. Having seen both exhibitions, I dropped in at the doctor's post at the central station: give me a hand, said the nurse. I held it out without hesitation. That went okay. She thought it was a bruise, so I had to wait and see. A few days later, I ended up at the hospital via the doctor. Where everyone suddenly treated me very carefully, after that first photo. Bad fracture, a nurse said. A bit later, my hand was pulled apart with what they called Chinese fingers. Then plaster. Beautiful red.
Meanwhile, A Personal Gesture lay on a cushion in my studio. An arm with a hand on it. Surprisingly light; the material looks heavy like marble but feels different. Remarkable. Suddenly, the arm with the hand took on a different meaning. I felt a kinship with this arm that I had not felt before, even though I had held it firmly and carefully when it was handed over. It was not allowed to fall. Now we were both handicapped, the sculpture and I. Literally. Both 'in repair'. Finished, a completed process for the Pietà, in process for me, but both never the same again. A Personal Gesture filled the space, the lacuna, the loss of what was before, and suddenly different. A Personal Gesture was meant for me. Fell into place. Unmistakably. Never before had I been so aware of the hand. My hand. The 'end of the arm'.
The body is a miracle. Gradually, I became more and more dexterous: skilled, proficient. Everything is getting easier and easier to handle. Hand-ling. My left hand took over the functions of my right hand, albeit with some difficulty at first, but steadily improving. Writing became easier. And, until I was ready, I shouted my emails and texts to my computer which willingly typed them out. Handy.
The scope of the hand appears to be enormous. Hand. What a vessel full of origins and affinities! What connotations! A grip. And a warning disclaimer: hand is in Hebrew 'to steal'. To withhold; to push back; to rob; to change hands; to trade; to claw; to plunder; to rip; to snatch; and so on. Google is my accomplice in this account.
So: arm. Hand. Hand over. Shake hands. Handicap. Unhanded. Handy. Unhandy, too. Shaking hands. Agile. Washing hands with innocence. Taking hands away. Bat of an eye. Reaching out. Handler. Handclap. Upholding.
Handy, comes from hantag, or handugs, also 'wise', 'sharp, pointed', and related to hannarr, 'artful, sensible'. Formed by the hand: what happens with the hands, handy, suitable, having a handy hand. Action? Legally competent? Until well into the 1950s, women were not supposed to be so. Their signature had zero value. They were not allowed to do any transactions. No transfer, handing over, carrying over (only in the legal and economic sense, their handiwork was useful). Here hand is directly related to 'spirit', 'reason', which a woman was not supposed to possess.
Hand is also related, via the Greek 'cheir', to 'grab'. To grasp (be-grasping?) something, by the help or intervention of someone, through someone. This is where faith, religion, come into play. Applied to God, as a symbol of his power, activity, strength, in the creation of the universe, in maintaining and preserving (as in: God is present to protect and help someone), in punishing, in determining and controlling the fate of people.
In Dutch, the verb ‘onthanden’ was known, which meant: to take something out of someone's hands, to take something away from someone. Now only the past participle ‘onthand’ remains of this verb, which is best represented by ‘ontriefd’.
So, someone ‘onthanden’ means: to take away someone's hand, and he who has been deprived of hands is therefore hindered in his actions. In other words, he no longer has a hand for his convenience, benefit, service, and is thus afflicted. After all, to be afflicted is to deprive someone of what serves his enjoyment or convenience.
There is also a link to politics, to power, to law. To enforce. To cover one’s back. To tear hair out. Two hands in one glove. To have something to fall back on. To promote. To control. To get hold. To bend something to one's will. Charter. With a firm hand. ‘To use hands, to rule’, ‘to handle’, ‘to hand over’. I'll turn your hand over in a jiffy. To hold the purse strings. Overplaying his hand. To grasp the hands is akin to arresting, seizing, grabbing hands, holding.
To deprive. To remember. To take away. Deprived, eviscerated. What we experience when we can no longer, or never may, do something. Can an original (such as the Pietà sculpture) be wholly or partially replaced by a copy? Is a real touch, a helping hand, replaceable by a placebo, a stand-in? Can what is broken be repaired?
What is broken will never be the same again, the orthopedist told me at every visit.
What does that mean for a work of art?
©Liesbeth Bik, 2021
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April 1 - September 14, 2021: the arm is with Liesbeth Bik.
