Finally working on a new painting.

A hand, yes. My current 'hand crisis' is what I think I was doing, but then the disembodied quality of the hand made me think of a nightmare long ago, of the strangenesses of our lives, which are like intersecting arcs.

These paintings are becoming a style, I guess. I work from the imagination. When I sit down I have no idea what will emerge. It's scary! Let it be messy. Yikes! Don't over-work and the way to do this is to be fast. Shivers! Just dive in. Though there is a sort of representation of my hand because it's very much a focus now. So is a psychic I saw around the time of the nightmare - a Wiccan witch from Northern Ireland who really was the real deal - who read palms.

Because of the the complex cluster of images that this painting is drawing about itself, I decided to call it, A Palmistry.

Palmistry is a way of reading the life of the person whose palm it is.

The dream, dated June 2, 1980, was quite long, and went on to become much more scary than the beginning, the part about the hand (which is all I'll relate):

There was a darkness outside, pushing in. 'S' was here, and entertaining as always, but aware of the ominousness. He went to the bathroom and when he came out he said that there was a hand on the windowsill with a note beside it (he told me what it said but I can't remember now). I shucked it off, asked if it was an effigy and he said no, it was a real hand. I knew it was a child's hand and had been deliberately severed. I could not go and look at it directly but could only think what poor child in this dear world had been sacrificed. I thought it the work of a demonic cult, and that, like marks on houses, of the first-born to be killed by Pontious Pilate in the Roman era, or the Jews during Nazi Germany, this was a mark that was a warning. I could not consider it a symbol, for it was a real hand from a real child. I saw it clearly in my mind's eye throughout the dream. I could not step into that room, however, and see the hand in flesh and blood as a sign in the window. I could not have borne it - a child of maybe 4 - unbearable. Perhaps it was my own hand.

....The sign of the hand - I was already becoming disoriented and couldn't perceive the situation clearly. I tried to calm 'S' as best I could in my state - my senses were being scattered and broken up....The blackness all around us was growing. The atmospheric temperature was dead still, enclosing, pressing against my home. I tried to stand. All I could see were sections of the visual world - a plane of darkly embroidered fabric in the air, and nothing else. Or a distortion of furniture. Memory told me where to stand for my senses were turning the world into a 3-dimensional Cubist picture that did not have coherence. The world of time and space and the way the senses order it was shot to hell. I could barely negotiate my way around and could not think with any clarity....It was like seeing the world through a crystal prism, darkly....Other dimensions could enter.

My intention had been to write some of the text of the original dream onto the canvas, but... I'll see. It is most strange that with my SLAC wrist and the recommended removal of the scaphoid bone and the fusing of the other bones in the hand with bone taken from elsewhere in the body that I find this old dream re-surfacing.

Can my painting move beyond my immediate concerns to connect with the strangeness of hands, all hands? Look, those red dredges of oil pastel running from her neck and down are not blood, but were meant to represent a red striped top. Lol.




 on the easel

 earlier stage

I saw a surgeon this morning. What he recommends, and he explained it very well, is to surgically remove the scaphoid bone in my left wrist, and to take some bone from elsewhere in my body to fuse the other four bones there so they, uh, don't fall into the chasm. The gap would fill with scar tissue. This operation would not give me more mobility than I have now in that hand, but the pain would be gone. Basically, the fracture in the scaphoid bone was not detected and did not heal properly, and has not only pushed all the other bones out of alignment but with two torn tendons and a huge reduction in cartilage, things are grinding painfully against each other. SLAC wrist is what he called it. I did this drawing some weeks ago - it's of the palm side of the wrist - and just pencilled in the scaphoid bone. Likely, I will get it done. Two months in a cast; three months of physiotherapy. Why am I sharing? Because I'm going kind of crazy at the moment.


other notes: I am right-handed, and the 'wrist damaged beyond repair' (the Rehabilitation Doctor's assessment, another specialist I saw a month ago) is my left wrist. Don't worry - doesn't affect my painting hand!

On this wrist, really I have done no meditation - self-healing is a lot of work I thought I'd let the doctors handle it. Look where it's landed me. ::laughs:: The surgeon is at a large downtown teaching hospital and was teaching two Interns during the appointment, which always makes me feel that I'm getting good medical care. He also edits a medical journal, so I'm going to see if I can track down any of his articles. He's an Associate Professor in the Department of Surgery at the University of Toronto, and Head of the Hand Department there. He is in his 50s, or perhaps 60s, so well experienced - he said he'd done hundreds of these operations. He seemed quite brilliant, actually. Hopefully all a good sign for letting someone slice into your wrist. :)

The wrung wrist has been on-going. The doctor estimated that this has been escalating since 2006 - he was really speaking to the Interns - and he's right but how'd he know that? Doctors have some magical knowledge sometimes, and afterall, I think. :)

We shall rise out of the ashes of our bones and live yet again!