In Michelangelo’s depiction of creation on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, the hands of God are electric, stretched out, fingers pointing, fully invested in an outcome. No, not at all. Take a look. They are the hands of a gourmand pointing to a choice on a dessert cart: I’ll have one of those, please, or, over there, let’s have a world….
I love those hands, the fingers relaxed and draping loosely from the downturned hand. Take that hand of Michelangelo’s—both hands—let the wrists rotate to bring them atop your thighs, fingers curved and palms upturned, supinated. We’ve gone from downturned palms to upturned palms atop your thighs. Wait. You’re not pulling your arms in toward your torso or you? Please don’t. Release them. Release your hands too. Relax them, the fingers curving, index finger as well.
Let’s bring those hands into play, but slowly. Let your elbows begin to open like arrowheads to the baseboards of the walls at your side, as you wrists rotate outwardly to let your arms arise and float your hands to a surface in front of you. Your fingers are ready to play, but please don’t ready them. Don’t anticipate. Wait. Let your fingers lengthen within their curve and curve within their length. Send your fingers away from your hands and back at the same time. You may feel a thrill in your hands, an excitation. Stay there a bit, wishing all the while, my fingers are lengthening within their curve and curving within their length.
Play now, type. If you’re at a keyboard, let the wrists be attracted to one another with elbows buoyant and space under the armpit. What do you notice? What’s new? No, none of us is a Michelangelo, but today we can have his hands, the hands of a creator. That’s saying a lot.