Intaglio

Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time 
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So, boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps.
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now—
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair. 

"Mother To Son" by Langston Hughes

This etching was made by a process called intaglio, which means "to engrave a design into a material". Little lines are etched in a surface (I used metal plates when I took the class at BYU but this one was carved in wood), ink is rubbed into the scratches, the negative area is buffed as inkless as wanted with a cloth, and the plate is run through a press to create a print. I found intaglio extremely difficult.

This particular intaglio depicts a scene from Gethsemane: the beginning of Christ engraving the ultimate love for mankind upon himself. So many lines for each of us. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands. 

Because this sacrifice was real I should be focusing on my own engraving, on mimicking perfection with my holy designs. I say unto you, can ye look up to God at that day with a pure heart and clean hands? I say unto you, can you look up, having the image of God engraven upon your countenances? 

Intaglio can be really messy if you're Melissa Lawson. (Even messier than Melissa eating lettuce wraps at PF Chang's. Am I the only one with soy sauce running off my elbow when I eat those?) Holding a wad of cloth and buffing sticky, inked metal till the end of time seems doable until my fingertips, palm, and the beveled edge of the plate I'm holding are all soiled. Once I even dipped my hands in kerosene to strip the ink off. Not smart. I shudder to think what I did to my cells via osmosis. Let's just say it's a crazy song and dance to properly apply and remove ink without tainting one's flesh.

Life can also be really messy if you're Melissa Lawson. I thought I had talent and even called myself an artist but the truth is I ain't no pro. I'm a pure heart who often comes up short in the clean hands department. I'm scratched and scored, carved to my core. My crosshatches wildly detail the botching of one test and the failing of another. However, I'm full of both painful embarrassment and true devotion, so I just keep buffing over my disgrace in hopes of creating an acceptable print. Please, Lord, give me credit for trying. I am a mess but I'm trying.

The beautiful truth is that I do get credit for trying. So I'm staying in the studio—shadows, smears, and all. What really matters is that His hands are clean, His work is perfect, and that He vowed in the garden to help me with my mess.

Detail from Jesus Praying in the Garden by Gustave Doré. Scriptures cited: Isaiah 49:16, Alma 5:19.

For Carrie, who climbed the non-crystal stairs to Bhutan's Tiger's Nest, made me a stupa, and recited this poem in a way I'll never forget.