Print is an interesting and unsettling process, largely because on leaving a world of familiar and perfect replicas, encountered on a minute-to-minute, day-by-day basis, your mother enters a world where nothing can be perfected, meritous attempts can be quickly squandered, and there is no undo. This brutal little accord creates a manic mechanised fugue; this fugue means you ruin your sitting room.
Much of my digital copies exist as a reference archive, but also as a self-reassurance should I need to replicate anything I might lose. Of course, a replica would never be good enough. Why is that?
Summary: THERE ARE MANY LIKE IT -reflecting a complacent and distributed learning curve. None are perfect- BUT THIS ONE IS YOURS.
(lino, paper, teabags, marker, ink)