I have prepared for this day with the precision of a long desired liaison with a lover ... This may seem strange to compare a day of etching to an illicit ardent entanglement, but all the elements are there.
First of all there is the intoxicating smell ... the aroma of burnt aquatint mixed with the ink and acidic chemicals of a print studio, send my head into a peaceful assuage, which immediately relaxes my body and prepares me to let go of inhibitions concerning the rules of traditional printmaking.
The thick texture of the black ink, which is heavy, glossy and viscid, is like that of the most hedonistic and decadent of mucilage... on occasion I have raised the tin to my nose and inhaled the most fervent of intakes... this of course causes dizziness and is not recommended...
Once ink is applied on to the zinc/copper or acetate plate, the process of caressing them with scrim to enable just the perfect amount of ink within the burs to produce an even proof can be long ... at various stages you can feel your arms burning from the repetitive motion of wiping the surface but it is impossible to stop as there will be blurs and uneven contours stained onto the plate, and so it is a case of mind over matter in order to complete the polishing back and forth and up and down until the full task is satisfy-ably complete.
and that isn't even the best bit...
Finally damp Fabriano Rosaspina paper is placed on top of the buffed plate ... cream blankets are carefully pulled evenly over these two ... it is then time to turn the iron wheel that maneuver the heavy steel rollers across the work, slowly pushing these two components together to create a mechanical reproduction of what was once just a thought within my head...
not always, but sometimes I feel a strong sensation within my stomach when I instinctively know a print will be remarkable ... there really is no better feeling than this ... really none
