I can't think of anything more familiar than that which is always at my fingertips, the hands to which they belong. I look down, and they are reassuringly there. Their actions with thread and needles are the means by which I make a living. By these hands, I feed myself. By these hands, I comfort myself and hopefully others. By these hands, I type and draw, giving expression to things otherwise locked within.

This photo was originally taken for a Hands Project. The table on which my hand rests is full of nicks and imperfections, just like my hand, so it's a well-matched background.