I’ve been told before that your first hand shake with someone determines your relationship with that person. I wouldn’t say that’s nessecarily true, albeit that I rarely shake hands with people and when I do I immediately follow it with ‘God, that’s a bit weird / old fashioned / sorry I’m clammy’. So maybe I’m not the best person to ask.
On the rare occasion I do shake hands with a stranger and breach the unspoken social quarantine, they usually comment on my rings.
I love these rings. I they are my collection of immediate inspiration. On one hand I have delicate silver band: one half way up my wedding finger probably from H&M (It’s a miracle it’s not turned a gross shade of green yet) and one on my middle finger, a silver band B gave me. Its got a verse engraved into it : ‘perfect love casts out fear‘ and there hasn’t been a day I haven’t worn it since she gave it to me in the little grey box with a grin on her face (okay, maybe once when I lost it in a tangle of washing and it slipped off. ONE TIME). I like this ring, it reminds me that when you do things and actually mean it, tiny earthquakes ripple around you (and with the brain of a small fruit fly, I need reminding of that sometimes).
My other hand, my right hand man if you will, is unmistakably taken over by Keef, the skull on my first finger. Named after my one true love and icon Keith Richards. Richards is a fucking raconteur, a vagabond, a pirate. A man of many fantastic coats and 70s wonders. When I need outfit inspiration, I google him. When I need a story-teller, I read the book. Some level of intense ‘hav it / fuck the system‘ comes over me when I wear this ring.
In the same way christian teens wear the WWJD bracelets, I wear this ring. Okay, so I’m not doing lines off a groupies lower back, but you get the jist.
Last summer I wandered round the Rolling Stones exhibition and found a portrait of Keith Richards wearing the same skull ring. SERIOUSLY. Either, we have great taste, or this is some super natural madness going down. I was grinning like an idiot.
I’m a maker and creator – I get that from my parents. I design things and put them together. I’ve got scars from where I’ve misjudged exactly where a Stanley knife is going through a piece of board and landed somewhere on the geography of my hand. Ink stains, biro scribbles (complete with notes for the aforementioned sieve brain) and paper cuts. My hands are my tools.
They are where I show my nerves too. It’s been said to me a few times that I’m a pretty calm person, even when I’m stressed. But I have tell tale signs. Subtle, but obvious. Raw, they are like beacons burning for someone to sort out my problem or life if i’m feeling particularly sorry for myslef. The week before I took all these photos had been testing; I thought ‘I can’t photograph my hands, I will look like a savage’.
But that’s the point isn’t it? People are going to meet you and make assumptions on who you are based upon your handshake, face or savagery, and you’re just going to have to roll with it.
Photos by the lovely Amy
Sountrack : Czech One – King Krule