Conjuring Hands

A pair of hands enters the frame. Top left, cuffed in green, trimmed in cream. They belong to Serling Curious.

From the fingertips, a frequency unspools. Squiggly. Alive. It curves and bends and takes on the shape of my billows, plum and teal and rose against a field of violet.

This piece exists because I asked myself a question: how do I get my clouds to appear without painting them, without drawing them in the usual way? The answer was motion. Gesture. A hand summoning color out of thin air, the way a conjurer pulls a scarf from a sleeve.

That's the role Conjuring Hands played in the exhibit. It wasn't just a wall piece. It was a demonstration, a small proof of how the WeeBees cloud motif can be built from nothing but movement and intention. Playful on the surface. Mystic underneath.

Serling doesn't need to show his face here. The hands do the talking. They reach, they summon, they conjure. That's the whole point of him: a figure who moves through the work more than he poses in it. Whimsy and mysticism aren't decoration in my practice. They're the mechanism.