Last week was time out for walking, painting and reading books. I spend some time making lino prints: it’s the closest i have got to sculpture, starting with nothing, and physically carving the expression into the bland canvas: it’s a visceral experience, the nature of which led to quite vivid dreams, where i saw the thin veins of curling lino peeling back from the knife. Lino printing is easily accessible to everyone, but need a certain change of perspective: you are cutting in the negative, working in the mirror. That presents some challenges.
I find i have to start by imagining the overall weight that i want in an image: if i carve out the sky, the sea will be black, but equally i could carve out the sea, under a black sky. Everything is presence or absence: your choice is which way to go. It requires you to envision the future state, and remove, slowly, everything that stands between you and that vision. There’s probably a naively simply metaphor for change there, but i will try to avoid being so crass. Change is not as simple as envisioning a future state, then working hard to get there. But it is strangely like the carving process: you have to commit, and you can’t undo the consequence of action: hence the benefit of reflection before you start
julianstodd
Julian Stodd's Learning Blog 
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I’m a quilter taking a lino class. I find the differences interesting. In quilting, there is very little I might do that I can’t undo. Yes, cut fabric can’t be uncut, and occasionally that creates trouble. But patches can be replaced and seams can be unsewn, colors can be substituted, and large swaths can be changed if needed. With the lino, as you say, a cut is forever. Think carefully of consequences before going forward.