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Shaping Life Name: Charlotte Lenox
My hands are often covered with graphite, sand, snow, clay, ink, blood. They bear the scratches and marks of the places they’ve been, and the things they’ve shaped. They’ve touched life that is black, staining, and imagined, and red, dripping, and real. The left has killed while the right has created in recognition of the fine line between that which exists, and that which does not. From the snow I shaped giant snails, patting snow into the grooves of their shells while marveling at their size. With thread and needles that stabbed my fingers, I meshed beads of ceramic and bone into amulet bags that no one would wear. From my Pigma pens come dragons, every black stroke between their lines releasing the pain in my body and transforming it into something beautiful. Through my camera, I have frozen light. What would I do if I couldn’t use my hands? My hands are small and soft despite the abuse they’ve suffered during my creative moments. I have always joked that all of the fish slime I’ve touched soaked into them long ago. From the slime, I created webs until a hose washed them free of my hands. Cupping them together and scooping them through the pond near my home, I created safe havens for water boatmen. On foggy car windows, I drew eyes to help me watch the world as it flew by. Anything is usable as far as I'm concerned.
But most of all, with my hands, I shape people (who are sometimes dragons). In writing, much like artistry, I can shape anything. Unlike artistry, I must do so with care, or I risk creating enemies along with friends - and sometimes friends become something more. Sometimes they share my pain, and vice versa. Sometimes they become so full of life that I long to touch them and discover that the imagined has crossed into the real. I look into their hearts, and in so doing I look back into mine. Through dreams, I've spent days in their shoes and have seen the world from their perspectives. Sometimes they become such an indelible part of my world that I can't live without them, but I love to write and use my hands, so the risk is worth it. When I had no friends, my characters were there for me. Working with them filled in the loneliness. The simple wonder of shaping life (and sometimes death), both real and imagined, helped me pull through. I give my characters life, and in return they give me theirs. |
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