Messy Hands

Does anyone else get pride from their messy hands?

I used to be so ashamed when I would go out with my hands stained from ink or paint. I would wash and scrub them to get them as clean as possible because I didn’t want others to see.

I’m not sure why.

I was never ashamed of the work I was doing, and I was almost always proud of the actual project. So why was I ashamed of the evidence of my hard work?

It might have something to do with my addiction to home and DIY shows. I would see people in those shows, and they never seemed to get any paint on them at all. Painting walls and canvas in heels and a cute silk top. It confuses me. I can’t do anything with paint without it getting on me. The clothes I could change, but my hands were evidence that I had made a mess.

Perhaps it’s because I thought I wasn’t good enough? Maybe I felt that if I was better, than I wouldn’t have needed to scrub my hands because they wouldn’t have gotten messy in the first place. Now I know that cleanliness is a skill, like painting itself. If I wanted, I could focus on painting and not have a single trace of it left behind. I could probably get pretty close too. But I would rather focus on exploring my art.

Now I see my hands as something to show off. Ask me why they’re messy, please. Because then I can tell you about how the pinkish-red is from the footstool I’m painting, and the lime green is from a new abstract art piece. I’m happy to show evidence of the work I’ve put in. I want you to see the scars and the bruises of trying to build furniture for the first time or trying a new recipe. No longer will I do everything to remove the stain of the ink that exploded from my fountain pen.

My messy hands, like me, are a work in progress, and they show the journey I am on.