5:30pm

finally got the entire plate covered, a process which involved one or two yoga 'backwards-snake-eating-its-tail' pose breaks, designed to eradicate that awful crimped feeling in my upper back. Plus a healthy dose of terror: he did say, after all, that it couldn't be done. What if I just spent the past 4 hours for naught?? what if the paper decides to fall into a bucket of tar right after it comes off the press?? what if there's something screwy with the press that makes the plate burst into a million pieces?? what if the ink has already dried??

I had to remind myself of the plight of the artist monk in Kristin Lavransdatter, who had to bite the bullet and trade in howling indignation for further faith in God or whatever when the glorious stained glass windows he'd spent 16 years constructing in the Norwegian cathedral shattered when said church burst into flames. "at least it wouldn't be that..."