The Art of Breaking Things Down

When I’m designing a new piece for Oli Fowler Art, the work doesn't end when the drawing is finished. That’s actually just the beginning. Unlike a digital printer that sprays millions of tiny dots to mimic colours, screen printing requires me to deconstruct the image. I have to physically separate every single colour into its own "film." If a print has eight colours, I’m creating eight different stencils. There’s no 'auto-separate' button that actually works; it takes a keen eye to understand how those colours will overlap and interact once they hit the paper. You’re essentially building a puzzle from the ground up, layer by layer.

Mesh Counts and Emulsion Sorcery

Then we get into the hardware. We use wooden or aluminium frames stretched tight with polyester mesh. This isn't just "fabric"—the "mesh count" matters immensely. If I’m printing fine lines, I need a high mesh count (lots of tiny holes); if I’m laying down a thick, juicy neon, I need a lower count to let the ink flood through. We coat these screens in a light-sensitive emulsion in a darkroom, "burn" the design onto them using UV light, and then power-wash the unexposed bits away. It’s a high-stakes game of chemistry. If the exposure time is off by thirty seconds, the detail is lost, and you’re back to square one, scrubbing the screen clean to start again.

The Physics of the Squeegee Pull

This is where the real "manual" part happens. Every single print in an edition is pulled by hand. You’re standing over the press, flooding the screen with ink, and then using a squeegee to force that ink through the mesh onto the paper. The pressure you apply, the angle of the squeegee, and even the speed of your stroke change the outcome. This is why screen prints have that incredible tactile quality—the ink sits *on top* of the paper in a thick, vibrant layer that you can actually feel. It’s not just dyed paper; it’s a physical deposit of pigment. Because it’s a human doing the pulling, each print in an edition has its own tiny, unique DNA, even if they look identical at a glance.

When you buy a screen print, you aren't just buying a copy of a drawing. You’re buying the result of hours of manual labour, technical precision, and a fair amount of sweat. It’s a craft that dates back centuries, and it brings a depth and punch to a wall that a digital print simply can’t replicate. It’s the difference between a microwave meal and a three-course dinner cooked from scratch. Both fill a hole, but only one of them is an experience.

Ready to see the results of the process? Browse the latest limited edition prints at olifowler.com and find something that pops.