What your right hand is doing

Contortion, grasping, burden.

Release, rest, connection.

When my previous phone reached its end of life and I upgraded to a newer, larger, heavier phone, I started to notice some pains in my hands the longer I used it. I noticed my smallest finger often pointed inward, toward me to hold the weight of the phone. I was curious to see how my hand’s ergonomics were holding up the device when I would scroll. So, I held my phone then kept my hand still and took the phone away. I was shocked by how claw-like and contorted my fingers and palm were. It looked like the hand of someone in pain. I thought this must be a common experience of anyone who scrolls on Instagram like me, or TikTok, or any of the other social media sites we pour our time into. That prompted the idea to do a photo project to photograph hands behind our screens.

I was inspired by works like 100 Boots by Eleanor Antin, Ai Weiwei’s The Artist’s Hand, and Bennet Pimpinella’s portraits. Something about the repetition of a theme across multiple subjects seems to add weight to the photography and the concept. I wanted to apply similar work to the question of how our grasping phones affect us.

Our bodies exist in a non-digital world where habits like prolonged handling of phones have real, physical consequences. We may not realize how our phones affect our hands, eyes, minds, words, interactions, relationships, or even environment. We may forget about the subtle pain building inside us because a flashing rectangle is between us and ourselves. Maybe when I scroll to distract myself from difficult emotions or to give myself a pseudo-community or substitutionary sense of potential, I am placing something between myself and myself. I am letting distraction come between my attention and my reality. The very thing that tells me I can feel better is making me feel worse. Maybe it helps to know what my right hand is really doing. Maybe it helps to know what’s really going on in and around me. That’s where community is, relationships live, and generous art can be created. That’s real life.

Where I sit right now, time simply passes. I’m writing this in my mother-in-law’s living room. We are taking care of her dog this weekend; but that’s not much of a chore. Her dog is small and clean and sweet. Right now, she is asleep and so is Zoe. The only sounds around are the leaves rustling together in the breeze outside, the quiet whistling air through the windows, and the gentle clacking of my keyboard. Time is not stopped or paused; it is simply drifting by with the wind. There is lots more to come, and lots has happened, but today our eyes and mouths can be closed, and we can rest our hands. There is something so easy about writing when I realize it doesn’t have to get me anywhere. Contrary to what the merger of my insecurities and Instagram’s algorithm would have me believe, I don’t need my art to take me anywhere. Maybe my work wants to rest as well. Maybe when I make things, they just want to exist. Maybe these photographs and this article can be just photographs and an article. They have a deep personal meaning and no agenda. No rush. No goals. They are the goals. Maybe art is our chance to create ends, not means. Not a vessel for likes or a channel for fame. Not an income stream or good exposure. Just a thing. Just a beautiful, meaningful, kind, resting, existing thing. Maybe my hands don’t need to grab anything. Maybe my hands can just be hands.

This project started as an exploration of repetitive photography and the bodily effects of dependency on my phone. It became a connection point for new and old friends and a reminder to just be, not always need to do. I think that’s pretty important for me to remember going forward.

Special thanks to Zoe, Jared, Kiana, Ish, David, Parsa, Dad, Darby, Joyce, Brian, Ella, Kevin, Evana, Nickolas, Nick, Joyce, and Fran for hanging out and lending a hand.

02.02.2025