I turned 62 on Monday. These portraits were composed yesterday by my son, as we ate pizza at The Australian in The Rocks and talked National Broadband networks and Rangas and netbooks and babies. The hands thing occurred as I tried to explain the photographic exhibition that my daughter and I had been to the previous day at the Art Gallery. It was a large exhibition upstairs of the works of Alfred Stieglitz during the 1920s from Lake George in NY state. Steiglitz had a thing about hands, often according them the same physical importance as the head in his portraits.