Advice from Artists: 2016 Printmaker Survey Results

Are you a linocut printmaker? Or do you appreciate the art form? If so, you may be interested in this post.

In spring of this year I surveyed 50 linocut printmakers about their process and work (2016 Printmaker Survey Results). This detailed resource contains information about:

• Linocut process (paper types, inks, carving tools, linoleum brands)
• Artist profiles of 35 linocut printmakers
• Advice from artists

This last section could be my favourite. It includes gems like:

Don’t start an art career trying to make work that will sell. You’ll never be happy and your heart won’t be in it. The audience for your art is out there, you just have to be patient and diligent in finding it

Take time to prepare properly, have patience in your work

Every perceived failure is just another step in the learning process. Keep going and don’t let failures slow down your progress

Thank you so much to all the artists who participated!

All the best,

Sophie

 

6 Unusual Tips to Beat Creative Block

Sneaky Squirrel – when I stopped playing with him, he left me blocked!

A recent post on Facebook got me thinking about creative block. A fellow artist was asking for tips on how to get past this condition. Many people chimed in, with mostly the usual tips you find in articles cheerfully titled “10 ways to beat creative block!” – clean the studio, try a different art form, and so on.

These tips are helpful. But I started thinking about it a little more deeply. Why do we get upset at those times when we do not feel called to create?

I think it is, at least in part, because we are attached to our identities as artists. This is how we navigate the world. Standing in line, sitting in a meeting – we slide easily through these things. They don’t matter. We have our art waiting for us. We create beauty.

Until suddenly, we don’t. We stumble. The threat is real. What if we never create anything again? Who will we be, if not artists?

But the truth is that we are always changing.

When your teachers asked you “what do you want to be when you grow up”, what did you say? Pilot? Princess? Ninja gardener?

When you chose a major in college, what did you pick? How close were you to what you do now?

To whom did you profess your forever-and-always teenage love? When did you last speak with them?

When we are young, we experience seismic shifts in our identities, and we don’t worry much about it. As we age, our identities become more solidified. We come to rely on these stories we can tell ourselves and others about who we are. But they can, even now, change at any time and without warning.

With this in mind, I came up with my own complement to the usual advice. Here they are, my 6 unusual tips to move through creative block:

 

1. Accept that this could last forever.

How does it make you feel to consider this possibility? Are you rebelling at the thought? Do you know, for certain, you will always feel called to make art?

Maybe so. But, as an experiment, sit with the thought for a moment. Who would you be, if not an artist? How would you spend your time? Are there other activities that bring you joy and fulfillment? Maybe even more joy than making art does? What would it mean to you to live without calling yourself an artist or painter or printmaker?

By accepting that you might never make art again, paradoxically, you allow the joy of creating to bubble up inside of you again. You let go of any external pressures. You let go of what you think you should do or must do.

Really commit to this idea that you are JUST FINE even if you are no longer an artist.

Chances are, you will start noticing beauty in the world again, and the spark will come back.

 

2. Acknowledge that the blocked feeling is likely to pass.

You have probably experienced this before. The feeling passed. And you made more art. This is proof enough, isn’t it?

 

3. Look at your life as a whole entity.

What else are you doing? Working overtime? Raising children? Training for a marathon? Renovating? Dieting?

What have you done lately in your artistic life? Tried a new technique? Finished a few pieces you were working on? Started a website?

Our lives are systems. If you change something in one area, you must expect to see consequences in other areas. If you decide that this year you will run a marathon for the first time, your artistic output will likely suffer.

Our lives are systems that are dependent on other systems. If it is unusually rainy, you may feel more or less productive than usual. On a glorious spring day, you may spend more time outside, and less time in the studio. If your spouse is sick or grumpy, you may react by creating more or less.

Can you forgive yourself for making less (or no) art, knowing that you have made other choices under other influences?

 

4. Exercise, outside, until you are bone-tired.

Go take a hike, climb a mountain, run for miles. The endorphins and sunshine and achy muscles will make you forget all about your creative block for a few hours. It’s a temporary effect, but it works wonders.

 

5. Let yourself get bored.

What are you doing with the hours you used to spend making art? If nothing important, you could try letting yourself get well and truly bored. Put down your phone. Step away from your computer. Don’t watch your favourite shows. Don’t even read a book. Just sit in one place. When you get that uncomfortable, anxious feeling, don’t get up. Stay with it. See what happens.

 

6. Lavish your attention on your loved ones.

Have you been attending to your relationships with as much enthusiasm as your art? Try channeling your creative energy in their direction.

Whatever happens with your creative mojo, your relationships are what will keep you happy and healthy. Take advantage of this opportunity to nurture them.

 

Chances are good that if you do these things, your creative spark will return. And even if it does not, you’re ok with that, right? If not – read #1 again.

Caveat: I don’t know if this post applies to you if you make a living off of your art. I suspect #1 is even more important for you, because the pressure is greater.

Thank you for reading,

Sophie

 

 

Muddling Through: Perseverance in Art-making

The Good Old Days – One Of My First Prints

Well. I’ve smacked into a metaphorical wall.

For two years I have been flowing happily along, thrilled with carving and printing.

In the print of Mount Robson shown above – one of my first – I was so charmed by the process that I embraced and loved all of the little inconsistencies.

Sure, as I continued there were little signs of trouble – that oily halo on that one series of prints, or that top layer of ink that never seemed to fully dry. But mostly I ignored these things and eagerly moved on to each new print.

Testing Charbonnel and Akua Inks on Three Paper Types

Now that I’m considering opening an Etsy shop, I’m suddenly experiencing a strong desire to figure out the technicalities. If I’m selling a print, I need to be as confident in its structural qualities as I am in the image itself.

This is a good thing!

It does feel a little bumpy, though. I’ve left the euphoric delirium of new love and arrived at the place where it feels a little like work. And like any relationship, this one is unique and requires experimentation to successfully navigate. What has worked for others may or may not work for me, so I will need to do some first-hand research.

Testing, Testing – Oh Deer!

Right now, there are a number of tests happening and planned in my studio. For one single-colour print (the deer skull shown), I’m trying (on Stonehenge paper):

• Akua Intaglio Mars Black
• Akua Intaglio Carbon Black
• Daniel Smith Water Soluble Lamp Black
• Caligo Safe Wash Relief Ink in Black
• Akua Intaglio Carbon Black with Akua Mag Mix
• Akua Intaglio Carbon Black with Kama Cobalt-Zirconium Dryer

To be honest, this experimentation is not my favourite thing. I would rather just get on with drawing and carving something new. But I’m in it for the long run. I can’t run away or ignore the bits that aren’t working. Now is the time to fight and persevere and muddle forward.

“The best way out is always through” – Robert Frost

Printmaker Profile: Dave Lefner

Dave Lefner is a linocut printmaker from Los Angeles. He has been creating prints for over 20 years and has built up a stunning body of work.

You can find his website here, and you can watch a wonderful video here where he takes you on a tour of his studio and shows you his creative process, step by step.

Dave Lefner’s Reduction Linocut “The Palace”

My favourite aspect of his prints is how well he captures the strong California light. I love California and its artists (William Rice, Edgar Payne and Frances Gearhart come to mind); if I were American I would move there in a heartbeat. Dave’s prints spark that longing and cool air and lonesomeness – a feeling akin to having stayed out in the sun a little too long.

Dave Lefner’s Reduction Linocut “T-bird”

Dave was gracious enough to fill out my relief printmaker survey describing the elements he uses to create these beautiful works!

A huge thank-you to Dave for allowing me to share his process.

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A note about printmaker profiles:

As a relative beginner to the art of linocut printmaking, I’m starting to understand just how much the technical aspects affect the final print. One can choose to print on tissue-thin or thick as cardstock paper. There are many brands of ink available. Some print on dry paper, others mist their paper with water first. Some use a press, others burnish the back of each print by hand while it sits on the inked block.

As artists, we get to experiment! Yet, some combinations work better than others, and I’d like to know what those are. So I’ve put together a (15 minute) survey, asking printmakers to pick one print and describe the technical details of its creation.

My goal is 100 responses! Then I will summarize the results here for you.

Are you a linocut printmaker? Take the survey here!

The Making of a New Print: Part 2

For Part 1 of this post, click here.

Finishing a print brings strange feelings sometimes. During the creating process, there’s a sense of hope and joy and optimism – a falling in love with what could be, akin to those thrilling first few dates with someone new.

But then, once the print is finished, it is like being catapulted into your fifth year of marriage. Suddenly the shine and freshness has rubbed off, and you are left to look, unflinchingly, at the reality that remains. Invariably, as with all aging processes, you see both deep beauty and emerging flaws. The ratio depends as much on the care you took in getting to this moment as your sunny or cloudy state of mind.

In Part 1 of this post, I described the first stage of this print – carving the lino block and printing the blue sky and snow. Next, I carved and printed the sun-splashed rocks.

Mountain Linocut Print – Watching Ink Dry

I waited for a week while the ink layers dried, yearning to print the final layer more each day.

Finally, the weekend came and the first ink layers were dry. Time to print again! I spent an hour mixing and testing the perfect shade for the shadowed rocks: a mix of Burnt Sienna, Ultramarine Blue and Mars Black.

Final Linocut Block Inked and Ready To Print

With my pulse racing, I got ready to print this final layer. I was nervous! Would everything line up? Would it turn out the way I envisioned?

And voila – the final print!

The Completed Print

I am very happy with how it turned out. I love the sense of light and the warm-cool feeling of a sunny spring day.

And yet.

Remember that marriage analogy? When I first pulled this print off the block, I saw some flaws and could not “un-see” them. There are improvements to be made. I love this print enough to continue working with it, to give it the full and loving attention it deserves.

New Linocut Block Prepared For Carving

And so, the journey starts again.

Thank you for reading,

All the best to you.

Sophie

 

Creative Projects Make Their Own Timing

Creative projects have timelines of their own. They can rarely be forced to enter the world, and sometimes a good deal of faith is required to wait for them to be born.

Take this print, for example. I started working on this a year ago. I carved the linoleum block for the black ink, then printed this. Then I tried hand-watercolouring the black-and-white print (shown in the image).

Three Trees (Winter)

I love how it looks, except the paper warped and buckled with the water, and would not become flat again.

I knew I wanted to complete this as a multi-colour relief print, so it would stay lovely and flat when framed. Yet for a long there was some block I couldn’t get beyond. I hung this first version on my clothesline, and waited and waited and worked on other things.

Then, the other day, I finally felt a wave of energy. Over a few days I carved and printed the first four layers (shown below).

Now, I am waiting for the ink to fully dry before I can lay down that final, rich black on top. And the funny thing is, even though I let it sit for a year, I can hardly wait!

I think there’s a lesson somewhere in here, about persistent and active patience. We know when we’re procrastinating. At those times, we know what the next step is, although we can’t make ourselves take it. But there are other times when we can’t see the path ahead.

In these times, I think our job is to remain open. To keep listening. We are slowly collecting know-how and new information. When we are ready to move forward, that quiet, tender voice inside of us will let us know.

Four layers down on Three Trees (Winter) linocut print

Have a lovely week, my friend, and thank you for reading.

-Sophie

Sweet Succulent Linocut Print

Yesterday was a fantastic day in the studio. I’m still waiting for the ink to dry on my big mountain print, but I completed a run of these sweet little cacti. The print below was created using the reduction, or suicide, method of printmaking. Read on to learn more!

Sweet Succulent Hand-pulled Linocut Print

It starts with a little drawing I’d made of a cute cactus plant on my windowsill. I make a tracing of it, and decide to try the reduction method to create the print. What’s that?

Normally, I carve a different block for each colour of a print. In the reduction method, you re-use the same block for every colour. You first carve away only the parts that will stay white, then print your lightest colour. Then using the same block, you carve away the parts that will stay the lightest colour, then print the next colour, and so on. It’s called the “suicide” method because you can’t go back – once you’re done, your block is destroyed.

Here are some initial colour tests, and the first layer of pale green on the lower right. My fingers are crossed that everything lines up next time!

Drawing, tracing and first layer of the linocut print

Next, I carve away all the parts I want to stay light green. I then choose to print the terra cotta colour of the pot – so I ink up only the bottom part of the block, and print overtop of the green.

Second layer of the print

Next, I decide the pot needs a bit more shading. I carve away the edges of the pot where the sun is casting some light, and print a deeper shade for the shadowed side of the pot. So far, everything seems to be lining up!

Second layer of the terracotta pot

Now, I carve away the entire terracotta pot, until all I’m left with is the dark green stripes of the leaves. Holding my breath, I ink up the block, line up my paper one more time, and hope that everything lines up…

And it does! Success! And what a sweet little print at 5 x 7″. Hooray!

(And, I clearly need a scanner, so I don’t have to rely on my phone to take these photos.)

Sweet Succulent: The final print

The print was made using Akua Intaglio inks (transparent base, burnt sienna, ultramarine blue, hansa yellow and a little phthalo blue) and printed on Stonehenge 100% cotton paper.

Thank you for reading!

The Making of a New Print: Part 1

Isn’t it fun to see how artists create their work? I always love when artists show just how they create their beautiful pieces. It usually gives me a much deeper appreciation for the high degree of care they put into their work. Linda Cote is a great example, I’ve learned so much from her posts.

The print I’m showing below is evolving right now, in my studio, so you are watching as it comes together! The final print will be on 9×12 inch paper.

Watercolour sketch about to be turned into a linocut print

First, I create a sketch with watercolour. This one is based on a photo I took while backpacking in Olympic National Park. I love the design, so I’m confident enough to invest the many hours it will take to create the final print.

At this point, I create a more tightly rendered version of the drawing, showing each layer exactly as I will cut them. The photo below shows this drawing on the left, and stage 1 of the print on the right.

For the blue layer, I trace this drawing carefully in pencil, marking each place where I want blue ink to show. I then flip this paper over onto my rubber block and rub it with the back of a spoon until the drawing is transferred to the block. It’s ok if my blue layer overlaps the dark layer a bit, because the dark will go on top.

I then carve away all of the areas where I don’t want blue pigment. This takes many hours for a complex print. I love this part – carving deep grooves into the rubber, following the curves of the mountain with my knife – this effort makes me feel deeply connected to both the landscape and the final print.

 

Drawing on the left, print in progress on the right

Next, I mix my inks. I use Akua water soluble inks. These are environmentally friendly soy based inks that clean up with water – no need to use solvents. They also do not contain toxic pigments like cadmium (heavy metal found in oil and acrylic paints), which is great, because I’m absentminded and sometimes end up with ink where it doesn’t belong.

For my blue layer, I’d like a paler, more intense blue for the sky, and a warmer, darker, more purple blue for the snow in the shadows.

Mixing up just the right shades of blue

Next, I roll the ink out onto my block using a brayer (the thing that looks like a mini paint roller). The photo below shows the inked up block, ready for printing.

Rolling the ink onto the block

Now, I carefully lay my paper face down onto the inked block. Because I will have three separate blocks, it’s very important that I line everything up exactly right. I use a frame from an old canvas. I place the small block of wood on top of everything, and stand on it! I then move it around, so that I’ve stood on top of the whole print, ensuring an even transfer of ink to the paper.

Pressing the paper into the inked block

After this is complete, I carefully peel the paper off of the block, revealing the print. This is a thrilling part of the process- I get to see if it worked! At this point, I make any final adjustments to the block and ink colour, and continue printing multiple copies.

Print after it has been pulled off of the block

So there it is – my process for creating linocut prints.

This one has two detailed layers to come. Click here for Part 2!

 

Too Tired to Make Art?

How to be gentle but firm with yourself

Cameron Pass (5×7 Relief Print)

Last night I came home after work and found myself too tired to make art. I flopped down on my bed and lay there for an hour, staring glazed-eyed into Twitter and wondering what was wrong with me that I couldn’t make myself go into the studio.

Reading art blogs, it’s easy to get the idea that other artists are brimming with constant creativity and are whistling while they work long into the night. When I’m in a bit of a slump, I compare myself to their online personas, and start to worry that if I don’t play cruel taskmaster to myself, I will get lazy and unmotivated stop making art altogether.

Here’s how I tackled this beastly sequence of thoughts:

First, I was gentle. I acknowledged that I have some good reasons for being tired (two additional hours of exercise each day, a recently completed commission for the largest print I’ve made to date, recent technical challenges with some prints).

Then, I was firm. I reasoned that, despite being tired, I could take a small step in service of creativity. I stepped into the studio and committed to just staying there and keeping busy – anything qualified, as long as I could honestly say it would keep my art moving forward. I ended up using the time for administrative tasks – signing prints and cleaning, readying the studio for another burst of creative inspiration.

Finally, I was gentle again. I accepted that this was “enough work” for the day (this was the hardest part) and reminded myself that life and art is neither a marathon nor a sprint, but both, replete with injuries and triumphs and all of the other ups and downs inherent in any worthwhile endeavour.

The gentle-firm-gentle sandwich – it worked for me, and tasty, too. Maybe it can work for you!

Wishing you happiness in all your worthwhile endeavours.

Sophie

Balancing Not Knowing with Doing it Anyway

“Nothing would be done at all if a man waited until he could do it so well that no one could find fault with it”

– John Henry Newman

Avalanche Slope (relief print)

Sometimes, there are golden moments when I’m working on a print or a painting, where everything seems to be going well and I have confidence in each move. Those experiences are delicious.

Most times, though, that is not the case.

Usually I move in a cycle between not knowing what to do next, identifying a possible move, and then trying it out.

That feeling of not knowing – it can be a strange and uneasy place. I think this is part of what stops people from making art in the first place. Starting in school and continuing into our adult lives, we are expected to find the right answer and to know what we are doing.

In art, this attitude cripples us. We need to march boldly ahead, coming up with ideas, trying, testing, creating, and only occasionally stepping back to evaluate the results. If our intention is to be right, we’re lost from the start.

What if we shifted our attitudes so we could find joy in seeking out problems? What if we could embrace the unknown as a challenging form of play? That might be the ultimate success.

After all, the joy of creating is in the not knowing. Each decision flows from the previous one. The important thing is to choose the best option we see, act, and wait for the next choice to appear. An artwork is complete when no more choices present themselves – when the answer to “can I think of anything else to do” is “no”.

When I was making the print Avalanche Slope, I took it as far as I could, and I was happy with the result. Over time, my experiments with other prints have shown me ways I can improve on this print – so I am going to give it another shot. Not knowing, but trying it anyway.

Avalanche Slope #2 (test sketch)

This concept also applies to most facets of our lives. Without knowing the outcome of any of our decisions, we must choose anyway. We move forward, not knowing if we are right or wrong or if there is even any such thing. We could look backwards, questioning our choices, or stand paralyzed with indecision. But a bold life requires choosing firmly and moving ahead confidently. So maybe making art is just good practice for the art of living.