Dots Per Inch vs. The Human Touch
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The fundamental difference is this: a digital print is a microscopic spray of tiny dots of ink that soak *into* the paper to replicate an image. It’s an incredibly clever and accurate reproduction. But that's what it is – a reproduction of a digital file.
A screen print is a physical act. We’re pushing a solid layer of thick, vibrant ink *through* a screen and *onto* the surface of the paper. It sits on top. You can see it. You can often feel its edge. It has a presence. It’s not a collection of dots pretending to be a colour; it *is* the colour. Every single print in an edition has its own tiny, unique character – a slight variation in the ink deposit, a faint texture. It’s proof that a human being was there, making a decision, applying pressure. It’s perfectly imperfect.
Colour That Has Its Own Voice
This is where it gets really interesting for me. Digital printers use a CMYK process (cyan, magenta, yellow, and black dots) to trick your eye into seeing a full spectrum of colour. It’s an illusion.
With screen printing, there’s no trick. If I want a blazing fluorescent orange, I mix a pot of blazing fluorescent orange ink. If I want a shimmering metallic gold, I use ink with actual metallic flakes in it. We lay down one solid, opaque colour at a time. This is why screen prints have a punch and vibrancy that digital prints can struggle to match. It’s the difference between a photograph of a wall painted red, and standing in front of the actual red wall. The ink itself has a physical quality and a voice that a dot-matrix simulation just can't shout over.
When a 'Copy' Becomes an 'Original'
Here’s the biggest mind-bender and the most important point from an art perspective. With a digital file, you can print one, or you can print a million. The 10,000th print is identical to the first. They are all reproductions of the true original – the file on the computer.
A limited edition screen print is a different beast entirely. The process is manual and demanding. The screen mesh eventually breaks down. The ink changes consistency. Because of this, the entire edition *is* the artwork. Each print isn't a copy; it's one part of a whole, an "original multiple." The limited number isn't an artificial marketing gimmick to create scarcity; it’s a natural result of a physical, analogue process. It’s a snapshot in time from my studio, and once the edition is done, it's done for good.
So, when you buy a piece from Oli Fowler Art, you're not just buying a pretty picture to stick on the wall. You're buying the layers of ink. You're buying the decisions and the craft. You're getting a small piece of a physical process, one that has a bit more soul than a button that just says 'Print'. And at the end of the day, that’s something worth holding on to.
If you appreciate the difference and want to own a piece of art with real character, have a browse through the prints I’ve been working on. You’ll see exactly what I mean.