Time, that is.
10 months ago, a self portrait in April of last year. Don't mind the messy table, it is always that way. Of course this is where we eat, discuss life, and hang out. It is my 'work' station and our dining area.
I don't like self portraits per se. Especially now that I can see how I have aged. I wonder why it is okay for guys to be aged with wrinkles and it isn't so cool for women?
I'm an outdoors person. Most of my time is spent outside in all the weather. I've beat the hell out of my facial skin. Hopefully wrinkles will come in vogue. You know those lines around the eyes and mouth. That ugly neck that everyone covers up with fancy scarves.
I thought it would be fun to do some black and white work while I was in the mood.
Hands. My hands and how they have aged.
Once upon a time I looked at hands that worked in an office that were primped and polished. Beautiful nails and smooth skin.
Funny how I never saw the arthritic bumps and lumps and rough skin that are my hands now. But that is the progression of age and outdoor work. Our skin is the organ we all choose to ignore.
I remember being so impressed with my grandmother's hands. They were knotted, crooked, and bumpy. I recall standing with her as she used a scrub brush to get the garden dirt out of the cracks in her fingers. She was going to church and didn't want the other church ladies to see her rough hands.
While I was thinking about hands hubby sat down to cut up and apple. He didn't realize I could 'shoot' from across the table. The benefit of having live view and a flip screen. I set the camera to silent.
If I didn't know these hands belonged to my husband, I would have thought they were my father in law's hands. Age, medical conditions, and medicines all contribute to this dramatic change.
I find it intriguing and curious. I see his hands while he is using them, but they look so stark when caught in a moment of time.
I'm making my mind up to get more comfortable with the looks of age. After all, I can't avoid it at this point. And I am not going to look suddenly younger.
The face in the mirror is still aging even if I don't quite feel it on the inside.
Then there was this matter of going upstairs to clean up the room I'd left a mess with things scattered about. Suddenly, I found myself distracted.