Two new etchings are being worked to illustrate a poem by Robert Frost, There are roughly zones.

There are two plates needed to make the sequence. They are copper plates, and were electro-etched in CuSO4, which is a non-toxic process, and inked with Akua soy based inks, again, non-toxic.

This new sequence builds on prior ideas—O Christ who holds the open gate, and Lightfall— done with plexiplate and zinc plate, acid etched. They similarly explored the geometry of the Islamic arch used so extensively in Gothic church architecture.

At this point, however, I'm not happy with geometry of the design, nor with all the textures and their placement. So i'm going to to do two new etchings to correct and improve the prints. This will take another week or so, which puts me light years behind schedule for a redesign of some linocuts to illustrate another Frost poem, the lovely Unharvested. 

First proof

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There are roughly zones by Robert Frost

We sit indoors and talk of the cold outside.
And every gust that gathers strength and heaves
Is a threat to the house. But the house has long been tried.
We think of the tree. If it never again has leaves,
We’ll know, we say, that this was the night it died.
It is very far north, we admit, to have brought the peach.
What comes over a man, is it soul or mind
That to no limits and bounds he can stay confined?
You would say his ambition was to extend the reach
Clear to the Arctic of every living kind.
Why is his nature forever so hard to teach
That though there is no fixed line between wrong and right,
There are roughly zones whose laws must be obeyed.
There is nothing much we can do for the tree tonight.
But we can’t help feeling more than a little betrayed
That the northwest wind should rise to such a height
Just when the cold went down so many below.
The tree has no leaves and may never have them again.
We must wait till some months hence in the spring to know.
But if it is destined never again to grow,
It can blame this limitless trait in the hearts of men.

Unharvested by Robert Frost

A scent of ripeness from over a wall.
And come to leave the routine road
And look for what had made me stall,
There sure enough was an apple tree
That had eased itself of its summer load,
And of all but its trivial foliage free,
Now breathed as light as a lady's fan.
For there had been an apple fall
As complete as the apple had given man.
The ground was one circle of solid red.

May something go always unharvested!
May much stay out of our stated plan,
Apples or something forgotten and left,
So smelling their sweetness would be no theft.

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