It Starts with the Screen (Obviously)
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The clue’s in the name, I suppose. The screen is everything. It's not just a bit of old mesh; it's a precisely tensioned piece of fabric, measured in threads per centimetre. We call this the mesh count. Think of it like the resolution on a digital camera, but for ink.
A low mesh count, say 43T, has big holes. It’s perfect for laying down a thick, punchy, opaque block of colour that really sits proud on the paper. It's bold. You can feel it. Then you’ve got your high mesh counts, like a 120T, with a much finer weave. This is for capturing tiny details and subtle halftones. The ink deposit is thinner, more delicate. Choosing the right mesh for the right part of the design is a decision in itself, a fundamental part of the artistic process that a digital printer never has to consider. It's the first step in controlling the physical outcome.
Ink: A Layer of Colour, Not a Stain
Here’s the big one. When you get a giclée or an inkjet print, a machine sprays microscopic dots of cyan, magenta, yellow, and black ink that soak into the paper fibres to trick your eye into seeing a full-colour image. It’s clever, but it’s an illusion.
Screen printing ink is different. It’s a thick, viscous, single-pigment substance. We don’t mix colours on the paper; we layer them. Each colour in my work is mixed by hand in a pot, then pushed through its own dedicated screen. The ink is forced through the mesh and sits *on top* of the paper's surface, forming a distinct, physical layer. It's an opaque, solid film of pure colour. Run your fingers over a print from Oli Fowler Art and you can often feel the raised edges of the ink. You’re not just seeing colour, you're interacting with a physical stratum of it. It’s got a presence that a digitally sprayed stain just can’t match.
The Human Element: Pressure and The Snap
A machine can be programmed for perfect consistency. A human can’t. And that’s the magic. The final part of the physical process is pulling the squeegee across the screen, pressing that ink through the open mesh onto the paper below. The angle of the blade, the pressure I apply, the speed of the pull – these all have a subtle effect on the final ink deposit.
Then comes the best bit: the 'snap'. The screen is set up to sit a few millimetres above the paper (we call this 'off-contact'). As the squeegee passes, the mesh touches the paper just for a moment to deposit the ink, then it snaps back up instantly. This action is what gives a screen print its unbelievably sharp, crisp edges. It’s a beautifully simple bit of physics that relies entirely on manual execution. Every single print I pull has its own tiny, unique character because of this manual process. It’s a ghost of the action that created it.
So when you buy a screen print, you're not just buying an image. You're buying a small, handcrafted object. You're buying the considered choice of mesh count, the hand-mixed pot of ink, the layers of colour, and the physical impression left by the artist's hand. It’s a different beast entirely from a poster that rolls out of a machine, and that’s something worth celebrating.
Feel the difference for yourself. Have a browse through the prints available in the store.