My Grandfather's Hands

The light in my grandparents’ kitchen always hits just right in the afternoon. It streams through the window and lands on my grandfather’s hands, which are never, ever still. He’s 95, and he sits at the table with a small pile of wooden clothespins, a little knife, and some glue. He is building another one of his miniature Sicilian carts, the carretti siciliani. The wheels are the size of a dime, the frame is impossibly delicate, and sometimes he even paints the sides with tiny, vibrant scenes from his memory. It’s a marvel of patience and precision.

I have about fifteen of them now, scattered between my home and my studio. Each one was a gift, presented with a quiet nod. When I watch him work, I’m just in awe. “Nonno,” I’ll say, “these are incredible. You could sell them.” He looks up from his task, his eyes sharp and clear, and gives me his classic, deadpan response. “I don’t have time.” And then he goes right back to fitting a tiny wooden slat into place. Listen, when a 95-year-old man tells you he doesn’t have time, you believe him. But it’s not about the clock. It’s about the purpose. The joy for him is purely in the making—this beautiful, focused, creative act. It’s a labor of love.

That spirit is something I recognize deep in my bones. It’s the same feeling I get in my studio with my girls, stringing beads and tying knots, turning simple materials into art on your body. It’s a connection back to your roots, this drive to create. My Nana, his wife of over 70 years, was a seamstress for Halston and Bill Blass. Her hands were never still, either. She’ll walk past him while he’s working, pat his shoulder, and ask the most important question in any Sicilian household: “Did you eat?” He’ll grunt a yes without looking up, lost in his world of miniature axles and spokes. Good food, good wine, good company—that’s the rhythm of their lives. And I wouldn't change a thing.

His little carts are more than just decorations to me. They’re a tangible piece of my heritage, a story of a man from Castellammare del Golfo who has spent a lifetime working, providing, and now, creating for the sheer beauty of it. Each piece tells a story of hands that refuse to be idle, of a mind that is always building. They are a reminder that the most beautiful things in life aren’t made for commerce or for praise. They’re made because the heart simply tells the hands they must. That’s the beauty.