Why printmaking?

What drew me to printmaking was my passion for mark making. The four main traditions – relief, lithography, serigraphy, and intaglio – offer exponentially more methods to make marks than I can by simple drawing. As someone who frequently mixes processes in the same image, I chose the process best for making the mark I want.

As I grew, printmaking became more a meditation and a narrative to me. At the impetus, the process – carving wood, rolling up stones or blocks, scraping and burnishing plates, grinding stones, pulling screens physically and fully absorbs me in the present. The repetition of the multiple is also a part of this.

Printmaking engages my narrative content – the subject matter becomes intertwined with the story of the processes engaged, so much that I am often unable to say which was the original inspiration for how the piece came about.

At times, students and administrators ask me why printmaking should continue to be included in curricula. Unlike more commonly recognized art forms such as painting or drawing, printmaking engages a student in a directed process. By engaging in this process, a student observes how they think and learn. By its very nature, printmaking engages metacognition.

As printmaking often takes place in a community setting, i.e., the shared space of a printshop, social interaction is a natural part of the learning process. Often, as educators, we forget that humans are social animals, and that communal engagement enhances learning. In my experience, I have witnessed numerous students make great conceptual leaps due to peer interaction in the printshop.

Since movable type was invented in China, printmaking has an interrelationship with history of communication and the exchange of ideas. When this inheritance is united with metacognition, the study of printmaking reveals insights into the human condition.

New collages

Infrasound I

It is turning into a spring of collage. For these pieces, I've abandoned any and all "rules," that I usually enforce in my studio practice, and have given myself free rein to just explore any half-formed idea that comes into my head.



Infrasound II

Although I have to say, using handmade paper in collage is pure bliss. Of course, using handmade paper for anything is a joy, but handmade paper really does behave better than commercial paper. Overall, it seems to respond to wet glue better, with less curling and warping, while also contributing its natural luminosity.



Infrasound III

New Print: Listening

This new print combines etching and linoleum block printing! I haven't had much opportunity to really explore etching since, well, undergrad, and I missed it. Aquatint, grounds, stop out, spit bite, scraping...there is just nothing like working a plate. It's like working (developing) a drawing, but the history and palimpsest is in the metal, it has a palpable presence in three dimensions (albeit, a low-relief sort of presence).

But I can run my hand across the surface and feel the drawing. It has dimensionality. When printed, that dimensionality is transferred, so the ink manifests the corporeality of the drawing.



I love contrasting processes - the flat planes of relief printing on top of the more atmospheric aquatint. Layering these contrasts, to me, is the most exciting. It is where the image becomes the most exhilarating and tenebrous.



God, I've missed etching.

This print is actually on paper made from the first test batch of pulp I made in my beater! It was just some cotton linter I beat to test Dulcinea out, found it sitting in drawer over the winter and thought it was the perfect size for this plate. Which is another thing I love to do, use something that I've been saving because I didn't have a use for it yet.

In other news - I've been updating the website. Check out here for my new prints section. More to come!

New Artist Book: Tamalpais

A new little book made out of waste prints from this. For anyone unfamiliar with the term "waste print" - when a printmaker pulls an edition of prints - often some are discarded from the final tally because of slight irregularities. Traditionally, these were discarded or destroyed.

However, as an artist, I find opportunity in these waste prints. I figure, I've already messed it up somehow, why not use it for a basis for experimentation? I can only make it better. So I draw on them, or use them for collage, or in this case, cut up them up and fold them into an artist book.

For larger views, click on the images.



I was a little unsure what to do with the repetition of imagery, and decided to make the book a sort of meditation, with the mountain being a visual focal point as well as a metaphor.



With this new work, I'm trying to be be less linear in narrative, to leave open up the stories I tell visually, and actually, leave some gaps for viewers to fill in with their own intuition or background. Some older imagery is returning in the prints I'm working on right now, I'm circling back while entering a new phase at the same time.

"Voyage," a suite of drawings

Allison Frost, curator of the exhibition I'm a part of at the Compound Gallery, decided to take a different approach to the catalog that accompanies the show. Instead of just reproducing the work from the show, each artist was given a few pages to make art specifically for them. She also contributed some comics based on each artist - which were AMAZING, and I'll have a post on that later.

Below are the drawings I did for the catalog. It's a visual narrative of some images that were running through my mind, incorporating some handmade papers I had lying around that seemed perfect for this series.

I'll note here, I was doing these drawings around the time Maurice Sendak died, and the dog in the laundry image is a nod to Jennie, the dog in Higglety Pigglety Pop. In her travels, she came for a brief visit to this narrative, though prior to these drawings that was never recorded.

The Compound Gallery still has copies of the catalog for sale. To purchase, please contact them.

The Artist As Storyteller - Exhibition Photos

This past Saturday was the opening for "The Artist As Storyteller," at Oakland's Compound Gallery, which included my work. Here are some shots of it I took before it got too crowded.

I want to publicly thank the exhibition's curator, Allison OK Frost, for all her hard work putting the artists for the show together, installing the work, designing the BEST CATALOG EVER, and for just generally being awesome.

Also, thanks to friends and especially Robert for coming out to support me!

On a related note - NYC Friends - I am also part of this exhibition at the Center for Book Arts! Hope some of you get a chance to check it out!

Becoming - new print for Lost Coast Culture Machine!

This spring, I was asked to be part of an invitational portfolio to support Lost Coast Culture Machine, this totally awesome, amazing, alternative exhibition and papermaking space up in Fort Bragg, CA. Book Bombs was part of an exhibition with them a while back, and since I've moved to California, I've been meaning to visit. More on that later.

For this portfolio, each artist was given some paper (see mine above) made at LCCM, to which they were asked to respond to this following quote by Giles Deleuze, One should seek to create a foreign language from one's own language, to be spoken by a community that does not yet exist. Not being too familiar with Deleuze, my first step was to sit down with my knowledgeable friend and philosopher Phil King (who currently has some paintings up at the Bay Area Free Books Exchange - go see them!).

My first response to the quote, before even talking with Phil, was that Deleuze spoke of a form of rebirth. As I came to understand, Deleuze was interested in breaking free from convention, reality, the mundane, but rather than attempting to reach a higher plane or truth, he felt that truth was found in the act of escape itself. The in-between interval, the interstice, was where he wanted to stay. When talking to me, Phil mentioned Heraclitus's concept that it is impossible to step in the same river twice, and how Deleuze would answer this by saying instead of stepping into and out of the river, or across the river, try to place oneself within the constantly changing waters.

I liked this idea: constant change, constant becoming. As an representational image-maker, I also liked the idea of the river. When considering process, philosophically the idea of reduction block, something that is constantly carved away to make the next image layer, seemed to reflect the ideas of the Deleuze as well. I started with this layer of very transparent blue:

The second layer was a rainbow roll of two different colors - below you can see how it was rolled, and then the print:

I was originally intending to carve away the mountain shape down to the border of the water, but I felt the image would flatten out too much without something to imply depth. So I cheated. the next layer (the darker green mountain shape) was not part of the original block. In the interest of time, however, I printed the sandy beach at the bottom in the same run, which was.

I almost left it at that - but I wanted the water to feel more watery, so a very transparent bluish silver was printed next:

Finally, reducing the block to almost nothing - the completed print, Becoming:

For those who might not recognize the scene, it's based on the view from the beach at Miller-Knox, looking towards Mt. Tamalpais. Instead of Heraclitus's river, I have the waters of the San Francisco Bay. Hydrologically, the estuarial waters of the Bay are part ocean, part fresh, and their salinity changes depending on the amount of rain the region receives. With their currents and rising and lowering of the tides, they are a state of endless flux. I see the figure in outline dissolving into their state of constant change.

For an six-color edition of 50, not counting extras printed for mistakes, the block ran through the press around 300 times. I can't even imagine how many passes of the roller I did. As it neared completion, Robert and I decided to use this print as an excuse to finally head up the coast to visit LCCM and see the Fort Bragg/Mendocino area. More on that to come - check back!

Wyoming Dispatch: The Petrified Forest and Reaction

As our days at Jentel are nearing an end, we residents took a spontaneous trip to the Dry Creek Petrified Forest. It's one of numerous petrified forests in the state, but the only one I've gotten a chance to see. It's the remains of swamp trees - the high desert of Wyoming used to be a swamp - and before that, it was under a very large sea. In some ways, as you look across the undulating landscape, you can imagine it.

Most of the forest is underground and un-excavated, and what viewers see are the remains of stumps. Only one large piece of a megasequoia has been unearthed.

I kept thinking about these petrified trees as artifacts of time. Dan at one point joked that petrified trees don't burn, to which Jennifer countered that the exception to that was coal, reminding me of my own artist book on the subject. 

After our visit to Devils Tower, I had been thinking about how, after the exposure to its grandeur (not to mention its cinematic history), I personally, couldn't make work about it. Most of my work involves constructing narratives that are implied onto the landscape, and I just didn't feel right doing that to such a sacred site to so many indigenous people. And it doesn't feel respectful to use their narratives (not really my style anyway, I'd prefer to have total authorship). Besides, anything I'd do would end up being seen as some Close Encounters reference anyway.

But I was drawn to these petrified trees. Jentel has some ornamental petrified wood chunks in the driveway.

I'm not sure where they're from, though I'm certain it's somewhere in Wyoming. Once we were home, I grabbed some of my paper and a box of oil pastels left by a previous artist (thank you whoever!) and went down and made some rubbings of their surfaces.

The paper I selected was some I'd actually had leftover from grad school, when I was still figuring out how to make quality watermarks. These are watermarked with the image of tree, tests for The Ghost Trees that I was never completely satisfied with.

I'm not sure how much of the watermark you can see above - that's the best I could do for backlighting currently. As I was making them, I couldn't help think of Melanie's projects, and hope that this isn't stepping on her toes. I'm not sure what I think of them right now, but I like the idea of the tree hidden in the stone, and interacting with transformed trees. As I was making them, I mentioned to Jennifer that I had to make these here, as I didn't access to large chunks of petrified wood back home, and then I remembered the Sonoma Petrified Forest. Have to make it up there soon. So maybe these are proofs, tests, or maybe they are complete. I have to think about it.

I'm really going to miss my fellow residents. As I write this, my studio door is open, and so is Dan's and I can hear him singing "Your Body is A Wonderland." Earlier he and Jennifer were singing along to Johnny Cash for their karaoke debut this weekend. When we all first got here, our studio doors were shut, we were even not sure about the rules of knocking and interrupting each other. Much has changed.

Wyoming Dispatch: Gratitude and Healing

For Thanksgiving, we Jentel residents were left to ourselves, so we decided to group-chef it up. Above, from left to right, are Jennifer, Zach, April and Dan in our amazing, spacious kitchen. Below is Mark with the turkey.

In some of the paperwork that I was sent before arrival, Jentel warns their kitchen has only the basics, and specialized cooking equipment would need to be brought by the residents. I'm not sure what they define by "basics," as our kitchen has everything from food processors to woks, an outdoor grill, as well as what I'd consider the "basics," such as bowls, knives, forks, saucepans, etc.

Just before dinner, some neighbors stopped by for a visit:

Just before we sat down for our meal, we were treated to one of the reasons - pictured above - why people come to the high desert country of Wyoming.

Since the holiday, I've been steadily carving, carving, carving blocks. While carving, I've been listening to a series of podcasts I downloaded from NPR's On Being series, which I highly recommend. Today I listened to an interview with Ernie Lapointe, who is Sitting Bull (Tatanka Iyotake)'s great-grandson.

I had spent a moment on Thanksgiving morning considering everything I was grateful for, but then found my thoughts drifting to the mythology of Thanksgiving. I am glad that in such a consumer-driven culture that is the United States, that we have a nonreligious day for reflection and and gratitude (I'll leave aside how this all goes out the window on the following Black Friday for now). In the mythology, it is about different peoples - the Pilgrim Colonists and the Wampanoag - coming together to give thanks and share a meal. When children re-enact the event, the Pilgrims wear their goofy hats and shoes with buckles, and the Indians - they are not usually taught which Indians - wear feathered headdresses and "war paint," despite not being the traditions of the Northeastern Native Americans. What is never addressed are the massacres and epidemics following said event that served to wipe out a large portion of the indigenous population.

Sitting in Wyoming, listening to Lapointe discuss his great-grandfather (who admittedly is from later in history and not New England), I found myself reflecting on my current proximity to history, bloodshed and disenfranchisement. The Bozeman trail ran right through this area.  Fort Phil Kearney and the Fetterman massacre happened less than ten miles from here. Both Rock Springs - site of the Rock Springs massacre, and the Heart Mountain Relocation Center are about a day's drive. Sitting Bull himself was born north of here in what is now Montana.

The interview went on to share how the Lakota see Sitting Bull and some of their current activities, now that they are allowed to practice their traditions. It's from 2010, so it did not touch on current issues such as foster care and taking children away from the reservations. But it did go into how the Lakota see Sitting Bull as less a warrior than a healer. Following this, it went on to describe how the Lakota have been doing a ceremony for many years now, which involves some songs of Sitting Bull's, in which they incorporate descendants of George Custer and his troops, and through the ceremony, they become family. (If I am misunderstanding this, anyone is welcome to correct me in the comments. In fact, please do). This ceremony incorporates Sitting Bull's legacy of healing into the future of the Lakota and addressing the history of the region.

Listening to these words just after Thanksgiving in Wyoming, I couldn't help but feel humbled. But as I listened, my thoughts ranged over the high desert landscape, and I found myself reflecting on my walk through the 1000 Acres a few days ago. Is this legacy of healing imbued in the landscape itself? I'm finding this idea coming up in the prints I'm working on now, and wonder if its possible.

Hurricane Irene, Rancocas Creek, 2011

 

Earlier this fall, Hurricane Irene slammed into the East Coast, causing New York City to shut down its subways, huge evacuations, and massive flooding.  Robert's parents, my in-laws, evacuated to their daughter Nancy's house on higher ground, where everyone safely road out the storm. 

However, after the rain dispersed, my East Coast family returned to Rancocas Creek to access the damage. To get to their home, they had to wade through about a half-mile of water, and found to their dismay that there was considerable damage to their house, and that all their belongings were destroyed. 

In order to help them rebuild, I have created the print above, Hurricane Irene, Rancocas Creek, 2011, based on photographs of the flooding. It is a two-color linocut with variable pulp paint on handmade rag paper, in an edition of thirty. The print measures 11" x 8.5" with a deckle edge. Sales of this print will be used to help them rebuild their lives, and can be purchased through my Etsy store, or by contacting me at michelle (at) michellewilsonprojects (dot) com.

Images from "We and Stories"

The exhibition We and Stories, curated by Asa Yoshie, is almost over. If you didn't get a chance to see it, check out some of the images here.