It's Not Just Colour, It's a Layer

This is probably the most fundamental difference, and the one you can literally feel. When you look at a digital print (like a Giclée, which sounds fancy but is essentially a very high-quality inkjet), a machine sprays microscopic dots of cyan, magenta, yellow, and black ink onto the paper's surface. These dots sit next to each other to fool your eye into seeing a solid colour or image. It’s an illusion.

Screen printing is physical. It's architecture. For each colour, we push a thick, viscous layer of ink through a mesh screen directly onto the paper. It's not a spray; it's a deposit. That ink has body. It sits on top of the paper, creating a tangible, ever-so-slightly raised surface. You can catch the light on its edge. Run your finger over it (gently!) and you can feel the different layers. It’s a physical object, not just an image on a surface.

No 'Ctrl+Z' for Colour

With digital printing, colour is a code. An RGB or CMYK value. The machine reads the code and does its best to replicate it with its limited palette of dot combinations. It’s precise, but it can also be a bit lifeless.

In the studio, colour is alchemy. We don't select colours from a dropdown menu. We mix them by hand. Pots of pure pigment, a set of scales, a palette knife, and a good eye. You get a feel for it—how a bit more white will knock the vibrancy back, how a touch of black will give it depth without making it muddy. The colours in a screen print are solid, opaque, and bespoke. A vibrant orange isn't a trick of yellow and magenta dots; it’s a solid, punchy layer of actual orange ink. That's why the colours on a proper screen print have a depth and richness that digital methods struggle to match.

The 'Perfectly Imperfect' Plate

Every print that comes out of a digital printer is a perfect, 1:1 clone of the one before it. The thousandth print is identical to the first. There's a certain sterility in that perfection.

A hand-pulled screen print edition is different. We strive for consistency, of course, but each pull of the squeegee has its own character. Tiny, microscopic variations in pressure, the slight shift in registration between layers—these aren't flaws. They are the quiet signature of the human hand. It means that while every print in an edition of 50 is part of the same family, each one is a unique artefact. When I'm working on a piece for Oli Fowler Art, I’m not just overseeing a machine; my hands are part of the process for every single print. That human element is what gives the work its soul. It's proof that a person was there, making something real.

So when you buy a screen print, you’re not just buying an image. You’re investing in a piece of craft. You’re buying the layers, the bespoke colours, and the artist's touch, all embedded right there in the paper. It’s a world away from a simple reproduction, and it’s something worth holding on to.

Ready to see and feel the difference for yourself? Have a browse through the shop.

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