A Show of Hands - Martin, Phillip
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This tale from the Democratic Republic of the Congo is about the right hand (the Husband Hand) who is having problems with the left hand (the Wife Hand). The real problem is that the Husband Hand is selfish, stingy, and just hasn't learned how to share. The Wife Hand could have argued with her Husband Hand. But, instead, she just let him dig his own hole and fall into it. Eventually, the Husband Hand comes to his senses and realizes that two hands are better than one. I traveled to the Democratic Republic of the Congo to paint a mural at an orphanage in Kamina. There was no water, running or…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
This tale from the Democratic Republic of the Congo is about the right hand (the Husband Hand) who is having problems with the left hand (the Wife Hand). The real problem is that the Husband Hand is selfish, stingy, and just hasn't learned how to share. The Wife Hand could have argued with her Husband Hand. But, instead, she just let him dig his own hole and fall into it. Eventually, the Husband Hand comes to his senses and realizes that two hands are better than one. I traveled to the Democratic Republic of the Congo to paint a mural at an orphanage in Kamina. There was no water, running or otherwise, at the Kamina Children's Home since the well was broken. To get water to clean the paint brushes, someone had to go across the road to a neighbor's backyard and drop a bucket attached to a rope into a well. Little kids were very willing to help me, but they always came back drenched. The bucket was just too heavy for them. I learned to ask teenagers for help. It's not so easy to clean latex paint from brushes without running water, but it can be done. The problem is multiplied enormously when oil-based paint is used. You need soap, turpentine and a lot more water. And, alas, I had oil-based paint on this project. It dripped, splattered, ran, and got on all sorts of little hands and arms. There were several times when I sat by the water bucket cleaning my brushes as well as little arms and fingers. As I rubbed away splattered paint from the children's hands, they in turn cleaned me up from fingertips to elbows. It was the closest I've ever come to a footwashing. So, when I found a tale about hands, I knew it was a keeper. My favorite part of any mural project is the people that I meet along my path. It's why I keep on painting. Nobody along the way could be any more special than Kyungu and Michel. These two orphans were truly my right hand and left hand while I was in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
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Autorenporträt
When you have traveled as much as I have, and your focus is on people and murals rather than resorts and spas, you gather stories along the way. In my previous book, Cooking Disasters, I shared some of the spectacular events that required a bit of divine intervention in order for me to survive. But, in this book, there are no close brushes with death or violent wrecks, no more rogues with knives or angry witch doctors, and -- thankfully -- no more bouts of malaria. I learned very quickly that those were the kinds of stories not to write home about. Fortunately, I also have several stories that don't require any guardian angels. They're the ones I could write home about. Yes, I've had some remarkable moments in my journey. One of the tales that you'll read about happened in Namibia. When I told my friend Abdelhadi that I was going there for a mural project, I said, "It's a once in a lifetime event." He was quick to correct me. "No, this is another in a series of Phillip Martin occasions that happen to nobody else but you." I think he was right. I have been blessed everywhere I wander. I've met the most gracious people who have opened their doors and hearts to a wandering artist. After you read these tales, you may also agree with my friend Abdelhadi.