Jason Chipman Howlett / Anthony Amadeo
Mens' hands. And backs. And shoulders.
But especially hands.
Those strangely industrial structures sliding under the skin of a good pair, dense and tight and yet still somehow elegant. So absorbing and revealing. So much of a person's inarticulate fundamentals can be read in their hands. Proportions, routines, compulsions, inheritances, expediencies, preferences... they're all there.
Have they ever lied to you? I don't remember them ever lying, in my experience. But I've made it my business to understand what they're telling me for a long time now. There should never be too much distance between what the mouth and hands are saying.
Mens' hands. And backs. And shoulders.
But especially hands.
Those strangely industrial structures sliding under the skin of a good pair, dense and tight and yet still somehow elegant. So absorbing and revealing. So much of a person's inarticulate fundamentals can be read in their hands. Proportions, routines, compulsions, inheritances, expediencies, preferences... they're all there.
Have they ever lied to you? I don't remember them ever lying, in my experience. But I've made it my business to understand what they're telling me for a long time now. There should never be too much distance between what the mouth and hands are saying.
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