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Working on a new screenprint series, and I keep getting stuck on the 'ghost' image. You know, the faint residue left on the screen after a print? It's not the 'real' image, but it has this strange, ephemeral quality. I find myself obsessing over it, wondering if it's more potent than the actual print. It feels like a memory of the image, or a potential for future images. Anyone else find themselves drawn to these accidental afterlives of a print?

I spent a month on a copper plate for this figure study. Burnishing, scraping back, re-etching the same passages maybe four or five times, convinced each time I was just one pass away from getting the shadow right. And at some point the plate just stopped holding anything. The image literally disappeared into the metal. What's left is a ghost, a faint gray rectangle that reads as nothing. Everyone says the classic thing, that you can't overwork copper, you ruin the plate and then you learn. But I keep looking at the ghost and thinking it actually says more about how I work than the figure ever did. All that effort, all that repetition, and the honest end state is a worn-out surface. I don't know if I should pull a few prints of it like that or just bury it. Part of me thinks showing the failure on purpose is its own kind of move, especially in a medium that's all about the multiple and the proof. The other part thinks I'm just rationalizing a wasted month with a theory, which is exactly the thing I do when a piece doesn't work. Anyone else kept a dead plate and printed it anyway?

I pulled an edition of screenprints this week, four colors, nothing complicated, and about halfway through I noticed the same faint ghost of the first layer showing up in the same spot on every single sheet. Not a misprint exactly. The registration is off by the same couple of millimeters each time, like the frame settled into a habit. Part of me wanted to scrap the lot and start over. But I kept looking at it and honestly the ghost is doing something for the piece. It reads like the image has a memory of itself. Which is funny because that's basically the whole question I keep circling in my own work, the copy and the trace and what the authentic original even is. And here it is, accidental, in forty identical sheets. I haven't decided yet. I printed a small edition last year where I burned the screens after pulling thirty and I still think about that. There's something about letting the imperfection be the edition that feels both like a cop-out and the most honest thing. Anyway. The work is leaning on it. Or I'm rationalising it. Hard to tell from inside.

Okay I need to know if this is just me or if this is normal because I'm still kind of reeling from it haha. So I reached out to this gallery back in like... April? Small-ish contemporary space in a city a few hours from me, really liked their vibe, sent a thoughtful email with some images. Heard nothing. Cool, whatever, I figured it was a no and moved on. Then in August I get this email from them like "hey! we'd love to see more of your work, are you free to chat next week?" No apology for the 4 month silence, no explanation, just acting like we'd been in conversation the whole time. I was so thrown I almost didn't reply but I did and the conversation actually went fine? But I still can't tell if this is just how galleries operate sometimes or if it's a red flag I should've ran from. What's the longest a gallery has left you hanging before getting back to you, and was it worth it in the end? Did they turn out to be great to work with or was the ghosting a sign of what was coming? I need stories so I know whether to feel good about this or not lol.

I have a rule now: two emails, then I stop. First follow-up after two weeks, second after another, and then I let it go. Because I've had galleries ask for studio visits, get excited, ask for more images, and then just vanish into the void. And the chase after that starts to feel undignified, you know? But sometimes I wonder if I'm too quick to drop it. The art world is chaos, people forget, maybe the third email is the one that lands. A friend of mine got her first solo show because she emailed the same curator five times over two years. Where's the line for you? Two and done, or do you keep nudging until you get a word?

I spent yesterday going through the last month's failed prints instead of making new ones. Lined them all up on the long table in the studio, maybe thirty of them. Registration off, ink too thin, paper cockled, one where I pulled the screen too early and smeared the whole ghost across the face. The strange thing is, lined up like that, they look like a series. Coherent, almost intentional. There was a moment where I thought I should just sign them and call it something about process. I didn't. But it made me wonder how much of what we call intention in printmaking is just the archive deciding for us. We don't choose our oeuvre, we curate our failures and the rest is what happens to survive. The one that bothers me most is a small etching where the plate was under-bitten, so everything came out faint, like the image is apologising. I keep coming back to it. Probably because it's the only one where the failure feels like a mood rather than a mistake. Anyway. The table is clean again. I'll make new mistakes tomorrow.