CMYK Screen Printing Weekend At Leicester Print Workshop

Untitled 4-Colour CMYK Screen Print (Test Piece) On Paper,
200 mm X 146 mm (Actual Image), 2019 

With a lot of time spent laboriously fettling cardboard boxes, fridge doors and abandoned trundle toys, over the last eighteen months - my printmaking excursions have been fairly few and far between.  I made an attempt to rectify that recently, and to reboot my enthusiasm for screen printing in particular - by attending Leicester Print Workshop's two day CMYK-specific training course.  It proved to be a thoroughly enjoyable experience, and has certainly inspired me me to get back into the workshop, now that the blessed school holidays have finally kicked in.

Untitled 2-Colour CMYK Screen Print On Paper (Test Piece),
200 mm X 146 mm (Actual Image), 2019

Untitled 3-Colour CMYK Screen Print On Paper (Test Piece),
200 mm X 146 mm (Actual Image), 2019

Although I'd done a fair bit of screen printing in recent times (prior to 2018's sculpture-orientated, spare time-devouring, energy-sapping endurance test), it had all been either single-colour photographic stuff, or featured the fairly unsophisticated layering of single, flat colours.  There's still plenty that can be achieved that way, of course (and certainly, I'd only scratched the surface of what's possible), but getting to grips with proper, CMYK separations, in order to play with the real potential of full colour, photo-derived imagery, felt like a missing piece of the jigsaw.

Untitled 3-Colour CMYK Screen Print On Paper (Test Piece),
200 mm X 146 mm (Actual Image), 209

Screen printing has always felt like a logical extension of the fact that nearly everything I produce, nowadays has  photographic origins.  Strangely - for someone who can often be pretty dim, or a bit 'analogue', where technology is concerned, the translation of imagery between different media, and the whole embrace of once wholly-commercial processes of image reproduction, feel pretty intrinsic to my process, nowadays.  It probably  has a lot to do with the resolutely urban nature of everything I do, and the way that such imagery contributes to the urban landscape.  Certainly, the insertion of oversized (usually highly idealised) commercial photo-imagery, into an otherwise physical (and possibly less than 'ideal') context, can provide some pretty thrilling shocks to the perceptual system, I find.

Untitled 4-Colour CMYK Screen Print On Paper (Test Piece),
200 mm X 146 (Actual Image), 2019

Untitled 3-Colour CMYK Screen Print On Paper Test Piece),
200 mm X 146 mm (Actual Image), 2019

I'm far from the first to notice all that, of course.  It's been a staple of the Post-Pop sensibility for 60-odd years.  Nevertheless, the interaction between the 'real' and the imagistic remains a key feature of the actual environments in which I spend most of my waking hours.  The appropriated, printed imagery of Warhol or Rauschenberg, the 'stolen' photography of Richard Prince, or Christopher Wool's boundary-hopping slide between paint, photography and print (and back again) all seem like pretty appropriate accompaniments to my daily experience.  Of course, younger artists might scoff at this - pointing out that these are all quite elderly exemplars, and that the physical or printed artefact is itself now 'well-obsolete'.  The integration of secondary imagery (or text) into our routine experience has, after all, become an all-pervasive, virtual process, at this stage of the cultural game.  The effortless negotiation of simultaneous parallel 'realities' is something many folks now take for granted, and hardly worthy of comment.  In which case, sue me! - I'm old enough for some kind of techno-historical perspective to actually make sense.  Also, staring at electronic screens, all day gives me eye strain.  Besides, aren't a bit of 'craft' and a degree of retro-appeal what all the really cool kids crave, these days?

Untitled 4-Colour Screen Print On Paper (Test Piece),
225 mm X 150 mm (Actual Image), 2019

Untitled 4-Colour Screen Print On Paper (Test Piece),
220 mm X 145 mm (Actual Image), 2019

Anyhow, I digress.  LPW's two-day course gave me all the new learning and techno-tricks I needed to make colour separations in Photoshop, and a useful refresher in the fundamentals of screen printing technique, to boot.  I was pleased to find that my muscle memory for things like photo-emulsion application, squeegy angles, and pulling pressure, hadn't deserted me in my recent absence.  I could just concentrate on the things that are crucial to full-colour halftone printing, like precise registration and relative colour density - without having to go all the way back to Square One.  As a result, the prints I produced (whilst they can only be regarded as experimental practice pieces) turned out to be encouragingly successful.  In fact, I've even sold one, without actually trying  (who'd've thunk it?). 

Oh, and if any eagle eyed visitors here should notice that not all my registration was exactly spot-on - I blame an initially loose pair of hinge clamps.  The only sensible course of action was embrace the error, and designate the wonkiest of my early prints as  'experimental', as the cyan and black went on.  That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

All Remaining Images:  Sneinton, Nottingham & West Leicester, January - July 2019

It is worth noting that the image I chose to reproduce was selected from an ever-expanding tranche of recent photographs, concentrating on major construction and redevelopment activity.  There's a lot of that going on in my neck of the Leicester woods, just now - with several major new buildings already nearing completion, and a lot more scheduled to follow over the next few years.  This is all part of the grand plan to redevelop a significant tract of West Leicester, between the inner ring road and my own neighbourhood.  It will transform the riverside area formally known as Blackfriars/St Augustines, and extend into the equally neglected post-industrial Frog Island area beyond - to exactly what effect, only time will tell.  Those particular environs have featured on here, several times, and I'll confess, I'm already slightly mourning the loss of one or two of my old favourite derelict hot-spots. 

But to live in a city is to embrace change and celebrate often-dramatic physical transformation.  If the region is to be transformed from a marginal playground of creeping stasis and desolate reverie, into a sleekly designed and heavily marketed zone of new-found density and intention - so be it.  The changes now unfolding are undeniably exciting - as new structures emerge, and empty sections of the map, and equally vacant intervals in the city's skyline, are suddenly filled in.  My lens already loves the intricate networks of scaffolding, complex geometries of newly-erected steel, jointing patterns in incomplete cladding, and glistening curtains of fresh glass.  The insertion of functional constructors' signage, developers' marketing babble, and aspirant, hyper-real architects' impressions all feel like valuable grist to the mill too.

Certainly, it all feels far too significant to ignore - particularly for an artist who constantly bangs on about being so in tune with their urban surroundings.  If, as seems likely, it all provides fuel for another eventual body of work - perhaps there's no reason why that couldn't be a largely print-orientated enterprise.  As ever - we'll see.  In the meantime, I'll conclude this post with few more taster images - possibly to prime the pump, as it were.

Thanks to Katie, Harley, and all at LPW concerned with organising the CMYK Screen Printing Weekend,  29-30 June, 2019.  I plan to be back soon, to implement some more of my new learning.

Completed Sculpture: 'This S(c)eptic Isle': 'Childish Things 1 (Misled)'

All Images:  'Childish Things 1 (Misled)', Salvaged Toys, Spray Enamel, Salvaged Cardboard Boxes,
MDF, Acrylics,Paper Collage, Adhesive Tape, French Polish & Salvaged Gas Capsules,
78 cm X 52 cm X 88 cm, 2018

After what feels like a long, hard slog, and a couple of teasers on here along the way – I’ve finally completed the first of my sculptures under the ‘This S(c)eptic Isle’ banner.  It was always my intention that the project should be a multi-media enterprise, but I couldn’t have predicted at the outset – just how sculpture-heavy it would all become. 

In the past, I always regarded myself as a painter (or variety of), although I have also come to recognise how important photography (and latterly - screen printing) have also become within my overall practice.  Until now though, the third dimension appeared to have largely eluded me.  Actually, though, that’s all a slight delusion.  I’ve learned to accept that, regardless of which medium I might employ, my root instinct is probably that of the collagist.  I have an urge to construct, and my habitual process is an additive one, in which separate elements are fitted together, layered, or even just piled up.  Looking back, I realise how, periodically in the past - wall-based pieces have made the transition from something illusionistic – to something with materiality and physical heft.  At various points, I’ve had a tendency towards the collaging of physical or found materials – or to produce the kind of relief-based pieces that I’ve often thought of 2 ½ -dimensional.

However, this is the first time I’ve really tangled with fully three dimensional, free standing pieces, and with all the 360 degree thinking, constructional issues and submission to the laws of physics that implies.  True to form, none of my current efforts employ anything like the classic sculptural techniques of carving, moulding, etc, (or even much in the way of complex fabrication – truth to tell).  We’re definitely in the realm of salvaging, repurposing and juxtaposing the detritus of the street here, with Robert Rauschenberg, et al being an obvious referent (no surprise to any regular readers).  I suppose there is also a pull-able thread through Rauschenberg (and indeed, his compadre, Johns), back to the Duchampian Readymade, although my own impulse is to spruce-up and renovate my found items far more than Duchamp ever did.  My urge to intervene, to shape, and to refine, remains pretty strong - it seems.  Would it be too grand to even suggest a yearning for some degree of alchemy here?  What does seem evident is that my found elements act as carriers of more specific (and probably far shallower) potential meanings or interpretation than the more abstruse philosophy seemingly attached to Duchamp’s.

Anyway, ‘Childish Things 1 (Misled)’ is the first of my current abandoned toy pieces, all of which will combine discarded or abandoned sit-on toys with cardboard boxes (there are other wholly box-based pieces also currently in production).  As I’ve mentioned on more than one occasion, these are both key motifs within the overall ‘TSI’ project, as well as being plentiful and familiar components of the street trash strewn around my own neighbourhood (and possibly yours too?).

As implied, a certain amount of intervention has been applied to both the toys and the boxes, elevating them a little beyond their raw, found state – whilst hopefully retaining their core essence.  The scooter and trike frame were both found in a damaged, incomplete state, which is key to both their abandonment, and their relevance to me.  A little extra suggestive extra damage was also wrought upon the blue scooter.  Both were subsequently stripped down a little further, cleaned up, glued solid - then spray-painted in their uniform colours.  The boxes on which they sit, each contain a rigid MDF carcass, whilst their surfaces were treated with washes of acrylic, paper collage, gummed packing tape and French Polish.  The aim here was to inject an element of nuanced artifice, whilst hopefully retaining the recognisable essence of the boxes as they might be encountered in the wild.  I’m still debating with myself how much all this relatively subtle (but labour intensive) effort might actually be a form of ‘cheating’.  The top-dressing of discarded nitrous oxide capsules was a relatively late decision for this piece, although they do recur through the project as another recurring motif.

And the possible meanings of all this?  Despite my comments above, I do prefer to allow the viewer to find their own interpretations.  The work is also fresh enough, and the current events to which it might relate – fluid enough for my own thoughts about it to still be in some state of flux.  Here, however, are a few leading questions which may be of some use…

• Is it really possible to look at toys, without reading them as symbols of childhood?  If that’s the case – what might their abandoned and damaged state suggest as we pick our way amongst so many wandering pavement orphans?  What does it imply about our regard for our dependents, or indeed – for the future they must inherit?  Has Youth really been abandoned or betrayed?

• Might the toys also signify arrested development, an infantilised populace, or a society whose assumptions and aspirations rarely elevate themselves beyond the juvenile?

• What do the rapidly fading colours, low-grade and U.V.- assaulted plastics, and shoddy manufacturing of such products, say about our consumerist priorities?  Were they ever really fit for purpose if they break so easily?  Could it be that built-in obsolescence is really a most appropriate condition - given the fleeting nature and novelty-fixation of youth?

• If ‘This ‘S(c)eptic Isle’, as an overall project, constitutes some form of highly subjective ‘State  of the Nation’ survey - what insights into our current socio-political situation might be divined here?  How important is it that both of these vehicles lack sufficient wheels to carry them forward?  What impasse or hazard caused the blue scooter’s steering apparatus to bend so acutely? Is it significant that two vehicles so resolutely pointing in opposite directions have become so entangled in derelict immobility?  Where, if anywhere, could they even go, if forward motion was possible?  How deliberate is the choice of their colours?  Do they simply reflect the components of our national rag – or are they emblematic of something more tribal?

• Is there any currency in the old hackneyed cliché of ‘Broken Britain’?  Who, if anyone, thinks it is broken – and what do they gain from the proposal?  If it is broken – who broke it?  Was it a cynical act, or merely childish neglect? 

• Are the legends ‘Bankers’ and ‘E-lite Style’, printed on these boxes, deliberately selected, or a mere chance conjunction?  Do such things feed your appetite for political analysis or conspiracy theory – or do they strike you as merely trite?  How vital is serendipity to the creative process anyway?

• If that all suggests more than a little disillusionment – maybe we could all do with a laugh.  But where might that be found at a time when news events and perceived reality deliver more terrifying absurdity than any satirist or professional humourist could ever muster?  Perhaps we can purchase or purloin our hollow giggles in capsule form.  The silver bullets littering our gutters suggest that many now do