I turned back to the old prints again and jollied by the first re-encounter, I disassembled and untangled the lines and scratchings and symbols at ease. Untangled, that is, with clicks and drags mainly, but perhaps also through a connection to the narrator-creator of the mono-printed vignettes of the time; the younger me, working with that special distance between the eyes and the plate. The curved back, the angle-poised head, and the breathing that sometimes (at any age) becomes the sound of the crowd, the noises-off, and the aeroplane which will soon be significant. That young man then, student, bent on inventing tiny worlds: still the Lego child, the keeper of tales of Mrs Pepperpot, Moomin Valley, The Little Captain with its Carl Hollander mists and city on stilts; the enclaved dramas made perfect by the brilliance of Glen Baxter. It’s what (a tiny world) I’m still striving to make in the stories I’m too slowly creating . And these re-visits are nothing but useful and thrilling for me.
Here is Super Moon Over Kookaburra Hill, and below it one of the original inky prints which makes it up.