I've been thinking about how etching forces you to accept that you don't fully control the outcome. You can prepare the plate perfectly, time the bite, measure the acid concentration, and still something happens in the bath that you didn't plan for. A tiny pinhole you missed, a breath of air that moved the mordant differently, the temperature changing because someone opened a window.

I used to fight this. I wanted the plate to be exactly what I imagined. Now I think the whole point is that it never is. The acid has its own intelligence, or maybe it's just indifferent, either way, you're in conversation with something that doesn't care about your plans.

My assistant asked me yesterday why I don't just work digitally if I want clean lines. And I couldn't explain that the imperfection is the content. That a line that's been bitten by acid is different from a line that's been drawn, it's been through something.

Maybe I'm just getting older and learning to let things be what they are. Or maybe I'm rationalising a plate I ruined this morning. Both can be true.