I can't brush my teeth without thinking of the Tomforde Farm. I can't eat popcorn without thinking about a former colleague, Max. And I can't draw hands without thinking about my high school art teacher, Mrs. Hansen, who does have a first name but because I didn't ask her permission to write this I'm omitting it. Cause you can't find anything on the internet.
While doing a unit on statuary in art history (I think? Sorry, Mrs. Hansen, high school was many eons ago) she pointed out that statues of women tend to be missing their hands and arms. There was more to it, and I'm going to botch this, probably, but some feminist scholars allege that this was a way of signifying the helplessness of women.
As we watch many of our elected officials try to strip women of their rights of self determination, I think of Mrs. Hansen, and feminist hands, and I hope you are registered to vote. And have the requisite State ID that will enable you to do so (you may insert your own eye roll here).
Oh, and I really, really have difficulty drawing hands of either gender - so people hold lots of bouquets, tuck their hands behind their back or into pockets, or otherwise hide their fingers and I have no intention of signifying a state of oppression or helplessness.
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