These Arms Don't Fit

The Girl With No Hands - AT Type 706

As promised, I will be discussing my favorite fairy tale today. I don't know why it's my favorite, but I have so far made something like 3 paintings directly based on it and quite a few more roughly inspired by it. I will probably wish to revisit it frequently in the future, as it contains many themes that intrigue and, quite frankly, disturb me.

What I've been thinking about this time, though, is the nature of those silver hands. They were always the most puzzling element of the story, for me. What purpose did they really serve? The girl really never explicitly uses them for anything, and she hasn't gotten her happy ending until she has natural hands again. So what is the deal with the silver ones? Here is my theory, by way of an Absurd Art Anecdote.

One of my latest artistic endeavors is to knit up some clothing for a young girl mannequin in my studio. Perhaps some other time I will tell you the story of how she ended up there. In any case, after a few name changes, she is now known as Audrey (I considered naming her Galatea, but it seemed a bit too on-the-nose), and despite a fresh new coat of pink paint she is otherwise nude. Since I've taken up knitting and using yarn and knitting needles in my sculpture, I thought it would be appropriate to make some clothing and accessories for her. With this in mind, I paid a visit to the local yarn shop, hoping to find a pattern for a nice summer dress for her. Finding knitting patterns for girls around her apparent age (I would guess around nine) is not easy, as mostly people seem to knit for adults and young children only. They even have a name for her demographic: "middle-aged children."

In any case, I asked a lady at the store to help me find a pattern for a sleeveless summery dress for Audrey, of course pretending that she was my niece, because obviously yarn-store attendants wouldn't understand the kind of high-concept art I make. In any case, the lady told me that a girl her age would never wear a knitted dress, and that I should make her a sweater or something. The nerve! To suggest that I wouldn't know what my niece likes, or that she wouldn't absolutely love any gift I put so much effort into. I tried not to let my frustration show, especially since I was already lying through my teeth and very much wanted to leave as quickly as possible. But to be honest, it was really bothering me, and the reason was this: Audrey, being inanimate, would of course like anything I made for her. But what ifI were making something for my real relatives, as I very much intend to do soon? What if they don't like it? Is it presumptuous of me to assume that my young cousins would like clothing I made for them? More importantly, why do stupid questions like this keep bothering me?

Anyway, what I'm trying to say in a roundabout way is that I think the Girl Without Hands couldn't be satisfied with her silver hands because they weren't hers. This is a surprisingly girl-empowering message for a fairy tale, especially one with an implied incest threat and mutilation as retribution for disobeying male authority. As well-intentioned as the king may have been in making her silver hands, she couldn't "win" the story as it were until she got her own natural hands back, through her own strength. Now, given that her strength is piety and constant prayer, maybe we shouldn't be too praising of those old-time Germans' feminism, but it could be worse. The story could end when the king finds her and makes her new hands and marries her, but it doesn't end until she proves herself worthy, through her own actions, of new, natural hands that belong only to her. Now, silver hands are of course a different matter entirely from knitted clothing, but I guess it couldn't hurt to figure out what kinds of clothes my cousins like to wear before I start making things for them...

Labors of Love

Lately I have been evaluating the amount of effort I place on various activities in my life. Painting, drawing, writing, knitting, reading, and so on. There is a notion that is often discussed in the art studio about need, about whether one needs to be in the studio, or needs to be making a certain kind of work. For a time I felt obligated by my surroundings to produce a certain kind of work, but I now see that something was lacking in that effort. What was lacking was not exactly need, but something closer to love. I did not love the work I was creating, I did not love myself for making it, and I was not making it for someone I loved. I was making work for the wrong people, and communicating the wrong things with the wrong audience.

Love is something that is worth a lot of effort. Fatigue and exhaustion should not and do not matter when the work is done for love. Time is never lost, but always well-spent, when it reinforces one's bond of love with another person. It took me a long time to realize it, but when I paint it is often not with love in mind. When I painted narratives I did not love the image. I loved the story, but it was not the story I was painting. When I create portraits, I love the people I am drawing or painting. When I create still-lives, I love the objects I am drawing or painting. When I knit something for my friend, I love the person I am creating for, and I put that love in the object I'm creating. When I'm working without love, I can stop whenever I want. With love, it doesn't matter how long it takes, or how weary it makes me, because I don't stop until I'm done.