How my HANDS became the gateway to my Incredible new life

My hands, a true reflection of my dining room table, both having weathered the storms of the pandemic and years prior. Fingers that were once slender now slowly trying to escape the memories of quarantine fifteen. The streaks of brown engrained in my skin, each having its own story; battle scars as a reward for completing a new recipe or learning a new skill to keep the mental demons from coming in. Unpolished, untrimmed fingernails, excess skin blocking the lunula, cracked, dry hands once a representative of rigidity like concrete, built for providing strength and resilience, now a product of repetitive tensile stresses.

My hands took on the responsibility of being my commander in chief helping me navigate through unfamiliar territory and where I grew artistically. If someone told me years ago that I would have been an artist, I would have thought they had lost their minds.

These five fingers on each hand have experienced so much collectively. All contributed to creating that symbol of hope during a time when my body began to betray me. Just when my life was about to hit its peak– that time I began to embark on an amazing adventure excited about the unknowns and laced with adrenaline. Everything changed suddenly.

In November, 2018, when I believed I was losing at life, even though I woke up with the urge to continue to fight that storm – a battle with moments of victory and losses – I stumbled on a box of pastels. It was a gift from one of my favorite professors. I worked on blending colors, learned through videos and familiarized myself with how to use them.

I sat at the dining room table, with the sunlight coming through the sliding door of the living room in silence, pulled out colored pastel paper, pieced together different designs, allowed my hands to get dirty. It felt like a small current from a river –a brook –some electricity beginning to flow through. It ignited a spark and opened up the doorway to creativity.

***

During the latter half of March, over a year ago, was the start of a brutal awakening. COVID-19, an un-welcomed guest decided to pay us all a visit. I watched as the world was declared a global pandemic with the loss of jobs and more devastatingly the loss of lives. The quest for flour, toilet paper and bleach that no one could have fathomed would be out of reach.

Once thought to be temporary, I spent most of my time at first in relief – a short vacation from work, a time to connect with others and engage in adventurous things. Since the use of pastels, I had graduated to using acrylic paint. I have heard of the term writer’s block, but I wonder if there is a painter’s block for consumed by the demands of a 7:40 am to 5 pm- no lunch break-schedule– creating anything artistic was no longer a part of my routine.

As the months of no work continued and my health again began to decline, I, along with others, began to sing the same tune of survival; a cry for a means to make money and to take care of ourselves and families. Other people were depending on me. COVID-19, stayed way past its time leaving unanswered questions and pain as it continued to travel through.

Again, I turned to my hands, a pair with a history of always carrying me through, dusted out my paint supplies and pulled out my canvases. That feeling of exhilaration – my means of escape and hope –returned again once my first brush stroke glided across the canvas.

“Ali you should sell them,” my friends told me. “It’ll be a means to make some money.”

“What if no one thinks they’re that good or no one buys them?”

Their response was to become my first customers, a boost to my ego that I really needed.

During the following months, I converted my dining room space into my mini art studio and it was on that very old dining room table that I spent most days creating art. I finally shared some pictures to my Facebook page. I hit the share button and waited in fear of what people would think and say. Would they even like it? Surprisingly, the consensus was that they did.

My mind slowly accepted the positive remarks. Putting myself out there didn’t turn out to be that bad–I had envisioned it to be like a bird who loses its wings.

I painted anything that inspired me–from plants to animals to fruits to people and even grew fond of abstract paintings. My prior reluctance for painting faces seemed to slowly dissipate as my skill set grew. My hands had allowed me to create things that were previously only dead seeds in my mind.

In September, 2020, I launched an Instagram page (link below) to showcase my work. This is how my abstract art caught the attention of a gallery. A few months prior, I shared my artwork only with close friends and family, now I had made the huge leap and was sharing it for the world to see. My business was slowly growing.

The pandemic affected so many families –a time when most of us wanted to escape, take a pillow, stuff it to a face and just scream for just a few minutes to let all of the frustration out. A close friend of mine lost her dad and this made a light bulb come on in my head. Throughout the past few years, it brought me so much joy to surprise loved ones and friends with pieces of my art. It was always based on their personalities and what I believed would bring a smile to their faces. I decided that I would continue to do the same and I sent a piece of artwork to her mom as she was having a difficult time grieving the loss of her husband. She was surprised and extremely appreciative. There’s no better feeling than to be reminded that your presence here is appreciated and that you are loved.

I have dreamt of one day making my love for art into a full-time business selling the originals as well as prints of all sizes along with having access to a large open space. I've lived in an apartment the past few years and I have surely outgrown my dining room space and table. Having a huge canvas on a wall where paint can be splashed everywhere to create without any limitations is what I have hoped for.

If someone were to purchase a piece from me, my goal is to be able to gift a smaller print to someone that they think needs a mental boost; an opportunity to smile. Attached to it would be some uplifting words from their friend or loved one. I am reminded that everyone wants to know that someone has thought about them and that their presence is valued. Human interaction proved to be a powerful craving; extremely vital to our mental health. If I had the opportunity, creating happiness through art is what I would like to do on a larger scale.

Another integral part of my proposed business plan is to create a membership portal for everyone with no age restrictions where they can access instructions and videos on how to create their own pieces of art. One live tutorial will be included where they can join me on a monthly basis to create art in a family setting. Through their membership portal, questions can be asked and work submitted for feedback. It has to be interactive and more importantly a fun experience for everyone.

I am grateful for my hands that kept pushing me through by continuing to add pages to my life’s story. Ray Bradbury described the art of doing things by hand best in Fahrenheit 451 (1953). He states:

Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there.

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/art.ismyrefuge/