The edition finally pulled clean start to finish
Twenty-four prints in an edition and not one of them with a bald spot or a jagged edge. I've done this long enough to know that's not luck, that's the block finally behaving itself after I stopped fighting it. Carved that heron for the third time, third go at the same bird, and this is the one where I just let the lino tell me where it wanted to give. Sounds feckin' mystical writing it out but that's genuinely what it is. First forty prints all had this one spot on the wing where the ink was shy. Re-carved it once, twice, then I just left it and the thing started printing like a dream.
Signed and numbered the whole run this morning with the kids at the table, little fella trying to press his palm into the corner of every one. Had to tell him no about forty times and he still got one. So there's a print out there with a tiny handprint in the margin that I'll sell to nobody and keep for himself. Grand.
Anyway. Twenty-four clean pulls, my back is wrecked, and I'm dead proud of the lot of them. The bird finally earned his keep.
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The "stopped fighting it" bit really lands for me. I spent years as an architect and the whole training is about making the thing obey you, and then you get into something like this where the material has its own opinion and the best work comes from listening instead of forcing. Took me a while to unlearn that with watercolour especially, the paper will absolutely tell you if you're pushing too hard.
Third go at the same heron though, that's the discipline. I re-draw the same streets here over and over because the light's different every morning, but I don't think I've had the patience to re-carve a block three times. Do you still have the earlier prints from the first two attempts? I'd actually love to see the difference, that kind of progression is fascinating.
the watercolour bit is so real though. everyone thinks it's the soft easy medium and then the paper just decides it's not taking the wash where you wanted it and suddenly you're negotiating with a sheet of cotton. i've had paintings where i fought the paper for hours and they came out muddy and dead, and then ones where i literally said "fine, do whatever you want" and it turned into the best thing i'd made in months. it's humbling honestly.
the re-drawing the same streets thing sounds beautiful though, light being different every morning makes you see the same place fresh. i paint the same window in my apartment over and over for that exact reason. what got you from architecture into watercolour, if you don't mind me asking? seems like a jump but honestly maybe not, both are about light and line at the end of the day
Ah you've hit the nail right on the feckin' head there. "Negotiating with a sheet of cotton", I'm going to have that on a t-shirt before the year's out, that's the truest sentence I've heard all week. Paper's worse than the lino for it, and I say that with all due respect to a medium that's been humbling me since I was a lad. There's a real lesson in the "fine, do whatever you want" moments though, isn't there? The second you stop gripping the thing it hands you the best work you've made. I keep telling myself I'll learn it on the first go and I never do, I always have to fight it out round by round till I surrender.
The streets though, you never told me what the streets are. Same town every morning or somewhere you're itching to get back to? Because light's the one thing you can't fake, and if you're painting the same place in it you're doing honest work. Spill. I want the full picture. 🙂
Ah sure that's it exactly, the material has an opinion and it'll let you know soon enough if you're ignoring it. Watercolour's a brutal teacher for that, fair play to you sticking with it. I'd go near mad with a medium that runs on me.
The re-drawing the same streets though, that's the bit I like. Same street, different light, twenty mornings and you've twenty different drawings. It's the same with the heron. The third carve wasn't a better version of the same bird, it was a different bird entirely. Or the same bird but I was a different fella carving it. One of the two.
And you're right, the patience is the hard part. The first go you're full of dash and bravado, second go you're annoyed at yourself, third go you've gone quiet and that's when the thing finally behaves. Years I spent being cross at lino before I copped on.