JAZMINA CININAS

I wanna be a star, mama
Of the printmaking firmament,
So I jumped into my car, mama
And I bought myself a roll, of the best linoleum

Well I sharpened up my tools, mama
So I could make a print like Rew’s
But they won’t obey the rules, mama
They’re going off in all directions, and it
looks like number twos

Give me a sign oh won’t ya, mama
Will I ever make the cut?
Pour me a wine oh won’t ya, mama
I’m almost ready to give up

Thought I'd change it up a gear, mama
I hear reduction's all the trend
But I've been printing half a year, mama,
And still there's no sight of the end

Maybe I need a lighter touch, mama
I wanted this bit to be black
But then I slipped and cut too much, mama
And now I’ll never get it back

​I’m going psycho ain’t I, mama?
It’s caused me nothing else but grief
I blame the lino on it, mama
How the hell is this ‘relief’?

Well I'm filling up with doubt, mama
And my ink is full of crud
And my registration's out, mama
And I've just pulled another dud

I’ve got a band aid on each thumb, mama
Lost me a pint of blood, or three
And my arms are going numb, mama
Now my carpel is a’tunneled, and my back is killing me

I’m going psycho ain’t I, mama?
Don’t think I’ll ever make the cut
I blame it on the lino, mama
Oh mama, why don’t I just give up?

​Leon Payne, Psycho, 1968

I met her at a gallery in Collingwood
Where they serve champagne and some rather good Cambonzola
Z-O-L-A zola
She limped up to me with a
cheeky grin
Had her leg in a cast from kickboxing
In Altona
Unless I heard wrong?
Maybe it was Werribee?
 
She asked “Do you wanna do a folio
With an animal theme and a travelling show
in October?
Said I’d think it over
But I know that the moment she hands me a badge
Of a nautical seagull puffing on a fag
I’m a goner,
I can’t deny Rona,
Ro ro ro ro  Rona
 
With her tattooed pets and sharpie hair
I’m seeing Rona everywhere
Tell me, what is it about this girl from Geelong
And her fringe-dwelling misfits that just wanna belong?
 
It’s insane to edition to sixty-four
But when she asks me the question I say “Of course!’ to my Rona
R-O-N-A Rona Ro ro ro ro Rona
Rona R-O-N-A Rona, Ro ro ro ro Rona
 
I slaved every day, From dusk until dawn, I slept on the floor, I can’t feel my knees!
Rona can I have an extension please?
 
A fortnight to go and the nightmares begin
Seeing visions of amputees in animal skins made by Rona
Wont leave me alone 
Reprobate cats with Soviet tatts
Head hunting Dalmations
What’s up with that?
Tell me Rona,
A dodgy persona?

At the point where I start to loose my hair
I remember the flippin’ questionnaire
As I’m tearing the tissue paper to the same size
I’m haunted by lagamorphs with Aaron’s eyes

Finally handing my folio in
It’s another print prize she’s beaten me again! Bloody Rona,
R-O-N-A Rona, Ro ro ro ro Rona
Rona, R-O-N-A Rona, ro ro ro ro Rona…

Ray Davies (The Kinks), Lola, 1970

Lana
Royal White
Sigami
Khadi
Awagami Bamboo
Somerset
Velvet
Hahnemuhle Litho
And Aquarelle Hot Press

Velin Arches, Arches, Arches,
BFK
Velin Arches, Arches, Arches,
BFK

Bhutanese Resho
And Fabriano Rosapino
These are the papers of M.E.S. (whoo!)
Some of the papers at M.E.S.

Velin Arches, Arches, Arches,
BFK
Velin Arches, Arches, Arches,
BFK

​Oh, oh, oh Dutch
Dutch etching, and
Canson and Zerkall
in Laid or Wove
Japon and Stonehenge
Kozo and Iwaki
And Fabriano Tiepolo

These are the papers of M.E.S. (whoo!)
So many papers at M.E.S.

And we save, save, save at
The end of year sale
And we save, save, save at
The end of year sale
M.E.S. ES. ES.
​
Ricky Wilson & Jeremy Ayers (B52s), 52 Girls, 1979

Short of breath, persistently coughing
The girl with emphysema is blocking
Her plate with bitumen
Sans a mask, if you please

Her peeling fingers the aftermath
Of her dalliance with the acid bath
No gloves in sight, the technical staff
Watch and weep

How can it not end up sadly?
Breathing in rosin like candy?
Why is she limping so badly?
When it’s plain all that she had to do
Was invest in a sturdy closed shoe

Refused to use the extraction fan
Ignored the ‘No food or drinking’ ban
Skipped the material safety data sheets

​It dawns too late that she mightn’t be
The girl with emphysema had she
Just thought to wear the appropriate
P.P.E.
Why didn’t she?
Wear P.P.E.?

Antônio Carlos Jobim & Normal Gimbel, Girl from Ipanema, 1962

Glassine, glassine, glassine, glassine
I’m beggin’ of you please be acid free
Glassine, glassine, glassine, glassine
I need to store my prints archivally

I’ve made a print beyond compare
Want it to last a thousand years
Can’t have my luscious reds be turnin’ green
I seek a shelter from UV
​A promise to remain dust-free
Preserved for all eternity
Glassine

I know to monitor the heat
Is there nothing I can do to keep from foxing?
(Though it does sound kind of hot)
I’ve buffered all of my tissue
And waged a war against mildew
Oh save me from the silverfish, and rot

​Glassine, glassine, glassine, glassine
I’m beggin’ of you please be acid free
Glassine, glassine, glassine, glassine
I need to store my prints archivally

Won’t tolerate humidity
Excessive alkalinity
Demand Ph neutrality, glassine
Been careful to use wheat paste glue
I don’t know what more else to do
Longevity depends on you,
Glassine

Glassine, glassine, glassine, glassine
I’m beggin’ of you please be acid free
Glassine, glassine, glassine, glassine
God help me store my prints archivally

Dolly Parton, Joelene, 1973

Hey, it’s always been my fantasy
​To be a printmaking celebrity
Call my studio The Factory
Get someone else to print for me,
The money rolling in
I wanna be like

Andy
Please let me be
Like Andy
Celebrity

Searching but it seems I haven’t found
The way into my Velvet Underground
Fame and fortune’s playing hard to get,
Have 15 minutes started yet?
Oh, when will they begin?
When will I be like Andy?

Screen printing logos left and right, but
They say they’ll sue me for copyright
What’s the answer
Gerard Malanga?*
Do anything to be rich, but
This wig’s just making me itch
I need a homie
Like David Bowie

Why won’t my star ascend? I need to know,
When will I find my Marilyn Monroe?
So far, the closest that I’ve got to show
Is scrubbing pots with Brillo
An empty Campbells’ tin
I’ll never be like

Andy
Why can’t I be
Like Andy?
Celebrity
Like Andy
Got no money
I’ll never be
Like Andy
No Candy Darling
Why can’t I be
Like Andy?

*Andy Warhol’s screenprinting assistant

​Chris Stein & Debbie Harry (Blondie), Dreaming, 1979

Went down to Gertrude Street
Where Reko paints the walls
The APW
Had already shut its doors

Am I ever gonna print this plate again?
Am I ever gonna print this plate again?

I’m out of tarlatan
My etching tool is blunt
Forgot to mirror
Now my writing’s back to front

Am I ever gonna ink a plate again?
Degrease, ink up, wipe off
Am I ever gonna ink a plate again?
Degrease, ink up, wipe off

Inhaled the rosin
Now I’ve got a nasty cough.
I used the hard ground
When I should have used the soft.
Am I ever gonna wipe a plate again?
Degrease, ink up, wipe off
Am I ever gonna wipe a plate again?
Degrease, ink up, wipe off

The ferric’s tainted
Feel like throwing in the towel.
I wanted spit bite
​What I got instead was foul.

Am I ever gonna etch a plate again?
Degrease, ink up, wipe off
Am I ever gonna etch a plate again?
Degrease, ink up, wipe off

Am I ever gonna ink a plate again?
Am I ever gonna wipe a plate again?
Am I ever gonna print a plate again?
Am I ever gonna etch a plate again?
Degrease, ink up, wipe off

Messed up my sugar lift
I failed at chine collé
Don’t even talk to me
About à la poupée.

Am I ever gonna etch a plate again?
Degrease, ink up, wipe off
Am I ever gonna etch a plate again?
Degrease, ink up, wipe off . . .

The Angels, Am I ever gonna see your face again?, 1976

How I wish it were my fate
To be immortalised on copper plate
Like Robert Clinch’s paper plane
A Raymond Arnold mountain scape

I wanna be a Deb Williams dog
I wanna be a Deb Williams dog
I wanna be a Deb Williams dog
Well come on!
 
A Michael Kempson soda can
Kyoko’s rabbit wonderland
I swear I’d do most anything
To be a lyrebird by Martin King
 
I wanna be a Deb Williams dog
I wanna be a Deb Williams dog
I wanna be a Deb Williams dog
Well come on!

I wanna be a Deb Williams dog
A Rick Amor suburban fog
A bush by Hertha Kluge-Pott
Well come on!
Come on!

​​The Stooges, Now I wanna be your dog, 1969

When I gaze out from my etching
The city is grey, to me
I close my eyes and I dream of the place
Where I'd rather be

I go northeast, east
Tess and Sylvie wait, for me
I go northeast, east
​Avenue of Shaftesbury

Time comes November
My mind’s on a tastier type, of plate
Driving for hours and praying the showers
Choose to, abate

I go northeast, east
To my picnic fantasy
I go northeast, east
Studio amongst the trees

I salivate, begin to drool
As I join the paella queue
And fantasise, wouldn’t it be cool
To clean up at boules?

Lay down my burnisher
Reach for the microphone, instead
Ghost of tillandsia, haunting harmonica,
In my head

I go northeast, east
To my picnic fantasy
I go northeast, east
Baldessin amongst the trees


Ray Davies (The Kinks), I go to sleep, 1965

Lord, won’t you build me, a big studio?
My house is all full up, I got no-where to go
I walk down the hallway, and bang my elbow
Oh Lord, won’t you build me, a big studio?
 
Lord, won’t you buy me, a new etching press?
I’d quite like an Enjay. Hell, I’ll take MES
The spoon aint a’cuttin’ it, though I’ve tried my best
Oh Lord, won’t you buy me, a new etching press?
 
Lord, won’t you buy me, a fine drying rack?
I’ve covered the benches, the stairs out the back
The floor and the furniture, with prints too wet to stack
Oh Lord, won’t you buy me, a fine drying rack?
 
Lord, won’t you build me, a big studio?
My house is all full up, I got no-where to go
I walk down the hallway, and bang my elbow
Oh Lord, won’t you build me, a big studio?
Oh Lord, won’t you build me, a big studio?


Janis Joplin, Michael McClure & Bob Neuwirth, Mercedes Benz, 1970