Trains. Plains. Boats. And a taxi or two.

Venice, Bremen, Copenhagen. Basel, of course, though briefly. Right now I'm sitting at a yellow desk, with the patchy blue Danish sky out the window. Andrew is working, I'm faffing on the internet, watching Deadwood (for the second time. Highly recommended!), reading Wallace Stegner. Snacking. Sounds like vacation. After Bremen, I don't feel guilty; it was a week of all-day rehearsals, a concert, and then three intense days of recording. On the last day, the baroque guitar player asked me if I was tired. I, somewhat unable to put complete sentences together, said, Hm, yes, I'm tired. "I'm not tired," he told me. "I'm destroyed." Summed it up pretty well. Though I find it helps me to have a good book during those kinds of things, and I did. Arthur & George by Julian Barnes. Also, the music was nice - Handel and Hasse arias and overtures. That day I took a train home to Basel, only 6.5 hours, and got in around 01:30. The next morning, trying to pack for Copenhagen, I found myself at a complete loss. So sleeping in and watching tv on dvd feels just about right.

Venice. Was a mixed experience. As the only time all year I get to devote all my time to printing, I had high hopes. I prepared. I read books, brainstormed ideas, experimented on the press in Basel. Spent time just hanging around the print shop in Basel so that I could get used to the atmosphere. Stared at the wall, or the ceiling, or out the window, to vacate my brain enough that good ideas could make themselves known. Took the train through the Alps, the breathtaking Italian canton of Switzerland, through Milan, and across the bridge that links the mainland to the island of Venice. Saw friends, made a big dinner, talked about California, drank cheap and delicious Italian wine. Went, on the second day, to the print shop; discovered that our ideas and expectations of the upcoming week and a half were different from the ideas of the man who ran the shop. My impression is that he was expecting a teacher and her students, all of whom would be working in the same medium. He had prepared zinc plates for us to do our etching, and knew what size paper we should be using. As he had thought, all of us were associated with a university (the Academy of Art, where I used to teach), but we were all experienced printmakers already, and wanted the freedom to use the print media of our choice. We got yelled at. Michelle, the print assistant and the girl who made everything about our stay possible, got yelled at. Again, and again. The air was thick with hostility. We all made concessions, and tried to smooth things over, but he wasn't having any of it. ("Why would you want to do your artwork on the letterpress?" he asked me. And, later, "Never in my 50 years printing have I seen someone want to ____!" Blank filled in with any of a variety of things.) The next day, more of the same, before he disappeared into a room in the back of the shop. The day after that, we arrived to find a cover over the letterpress, with news that it was "broken." I was tempted to return to Basel; I'm not interested in being yelled at, and besides, I wanted to get some work done. But I stayed, and over the next few days it was clear that he was going to stay out of our way, that I was going to be able to use the (obviously perfectly sound) press, and we'd all be able to work in peace. But that start was disruptive, and I think everyone's work and state of mind suffered. I'm still glad that I went, because it was great to see my friends, and to discover a part of Venice away from the giant crowds of camera-weilding, sunburnt tourists that clogged the streets every hour of the day. It took a while to convince me that Venice was more than a shell of itself, made for people who don't want to visit a real city, but finally, on the last day, I saw it - that mythical Venice, stone rising from the sea, a miracle of bridges and water.

The water everywhere reflects the bright, hot sunlight and so unshaded areas are nearly blinding, but somehow in a good way. When I look at my print now I still like it very much, but the colors don't look as vivid as they did in that studio, surrounded by light.

Reduction lino cuts, printed on the letterpress. A total of 27 runs (you can see 7 in the blue there, AKA "lagoon #2"), and an edition of 18. One to the city of Venice, one to the region, and one to the archives of the Venice Printmaking Studio; one to the Academy of Art, for supporting us, and a full set of prints to each artist. Which leaves me with 5. One of which is getting framed sometime this week. Someone has offered to keep it in a frame at his house for me. How generous.

Did this post live up to its title? I think I wanted to tell about my train ride back to Basel, during which the train was delayed by a track fire, and I arrived nearly 5 hours late, at 05:30. But to talk about that would sound like complaining. So I'll leave it there.