Why Printmaking?

Handmade prints, (etchings, lino and woodcuts, screen prints, lithography) as done by artisans, have lost their original function of creating multiples.  Other processes and now digital technology have taken over the job of disseminating images.  Screen print (aka serigraphy) does not use a press and the equipment is cheap and portable, and so if you wanted to have a revolution or a rock concert, a colorful screen printed poster was the way to go.

So why do we still make prints, and why do people like them, exhibit them, and collect them?

The fact that they are so lovingly made, on generally fine paper, and with a texture that you cannot get in a magazine or on a screen, gives them tactile qualities, and even aromas, that a mass produced copy can never have.

I love silk screen for a clean and eye popping effect of layered opaque color.  I started making prints in order to get that look.  It worked for my vision of what I wanted to put out there.  Working always with nature as my muse, this took out all the vagaries, the greys, the indecision presented by the messy world.
But the ability to make a lot of them did not interest me except as a technical challenge.  I learned from some fine printmakers who could do anything and could do it in their best jacket and not get a spot on it.
Gemini/Los Angeles master printers.  They did work for Frank Stella, Sam Francis, and many other big names, and had as part of their pay, printers proofs displayed in their workshops and homes.  It was a good education and put my University training in question.  These were the people who made a living at art and could not afford to make it a religion.

But the multiples did not matter too much to me as a reason to make screen prints.  The look that the print provided me did matter.  Put down a deep even swath of red in an instant, or painstakingly go over an area with gouache for an hour?   Easy.  Fast.  Changeable if needed.  Gorgeous like velvet on velvet, or sharp like enamel on metal.  I loved it, found my voice in it.  And that is enough.

Now I am looking at another way to say what I want to say about growth, life, botanical wonder, development and change.  Making prints that are not editions in the traditional sense, but are a changing set of images.  The edition starts with print 1/10 (for example) as a seedling, changing in print 2/10 to a tendril of growth, 3/10 to the first leaves, and on and on this way.  A set which is unique art work rather than an edition, and hangs as a large piece all together.  That is my idea.  And now seems like a good time.