Some evenings, I take a walk in my neighbourhood. One particular evening, I was stopped abruptly by the force of beauty – by the way the bare branches and murmuring magpies stood silhouetted against the fierce intensity of glowing pink and blue in the sky.

That experience found its way into this reduction linocut. Mixing the ink for that perfect sky was so much fun – trying to create that seamless transition between day and night, where you can’t quite name the colour of the sky.

When it came to carving the block, I wasn’t sure I could pull it off. All those tiny little intricate lines everywhere! But I love a challenge. And I’m so happy with how it turned out. There are fine speckles in the solid black, where tiny bits of reflected pink and blue shine through. And you can feel the texture of the black branches – undeniable proof of something handmade.

Linocuts take time to make, and I think the life circumstances of the artist find their way into the art during the process. Here, this arrived in a poem.

The Transition

There are moments when things shift.

Slowly, at first, then with momentum, toward the darkest part of the night.

Beauty becomes obscured.

(Though it is still there if you search carefully.)

The transition can be disorienting. The world feels suddenly smaller.

But we can find our friends, we can find meaning in the stars, and we can find comfort in knowing

Transitions are a circle.

Together we roll,

Through the darkest part of the night,

And into the shining crystal morning.