Wednesday, 16 June 2010
We will pass the day waiting
I am on break from etching. Too many small lines and letters, too many hours making tiny strokes, and my hand has been killing me for the past two days.
Even though there are other things I could do there, I can't seem to force myself to go down to the studio until I have this plate ready for the acid.
For some reason, with drawing or painting, my mind goes away and I don't notice the time passing. Hours pass in instants, like sleeping. But with etching there's the drawing to start with, and then each line of it must be copied exactly again and again... and if the aches start, time stops even stiller.
Once I finish scratching lines into this plate....
It's a thought too lovely to finish.
Just outside the window, the pigeon has returned to last year's nest. And if she can sit up there all day, what am I saying? I will think of her up there on her sticks, and not say another word.