🎹🎨 The Hand of God, the Hand of the Artist
In classical piano, the hands are named — not just functionally, but symbolically.
In Italian tradition, the right hand is called mano destra — the hand of God. The left? Mano sinistra — the sinister hand, the hand of the devil.
In French, it’s main droite and main gauche — the adroit and the clumsy.
Across most classical and jazz repertoire, this hierarchy holds. The right hand carries the melody — the lyricism, the expressiveness. The left provides support: accompaniment, rhythmic patterns, bass lines. Occasionally, yes, they partner in tandem. Rarely, the left hand takes the spotlight. But overwhelmingly, the musical weight — the soul — rests on the right.
Except I’m left-handed.
I wasn’t born that way. When I was five, my brother accidentally slammed a car door on my right hand. He ran for help — instead of opening the door — and by the time my mom got there, I had passed out. When I came to, everything had shifted. My body adapted, and from then on, I became left-handed.
As a pianist, this wasn’t ideal. I had to teach my non-dominant hand to become dominant again. It took will, repetition, and years of refinement, but I’m proud to say my right hand has become the precision instrument I needed it to be. I’m proud of what it can now do.
But in my visual art, it’s the left hand that leads. Every brushstroke, every pastel pass, every drawn line — it's all left-handed. And after hours at the canvas, my left hand can be sore, but it’s also intuitive. It listens. It responds. It makes choices that feel instinctive, even sentient.
So what am I getting at? (This is the point where I usually ask students…)
👉 What do you think I’m about to say?
The fact that I create art with my left hand has directly transformed how I play piano with my left hand. My left hand — the “sinister” one — has become expressive, articulate, independent. It thinks differently now. And because of that, it plays differently.
And that’s the revelation: My work as a left-handed artist has elevated my voice as a pianist.
It’s given me a new kind of touch, a new palette, a new sense of balance between the hands.
That’s the beauty of this journey. It’s not just about overcoming adversity — it’s about cross-pollination, about unexpected gifts. And I’m thankful for all of it.
— Hank Hehmsoth
