The Physics of Ink Density
Most modern printing, like your home inkjet or a commercial Giclée print, works by spraying tiny dots of cyan, magenta, yellow, and black onto the surface of the paper. It’s clever, but it’s thin. If you look at it under a microscope, the ink is barely sitting there. Screen printing is more like masonry. I’m forcing heavy-bodied, pigment-rich ink through a fine mesh with a rubber blade. This creates a physical layer of colour that has height, weight, and a matte or gloss finish you can actually feel. When you look at a screen print from an angle, you can see the "build" of the ink. It’s vibrant in a way that digital pixels just can’t replicate because the pigment hasn’t been watered down to fit through a tiny nozzle.
Spot Colours and the Separation Game
In the digital world, every colour is a mix of those four basic CMYK dots. In my studio, if I want a specific, punchy neon pink or a very particular shade of London-bus red, I mix that physical pot of ink by hand. This is called "Spot Colour" printing. Each one of those colours requires its own dedicated screen, its own setup, and its own "pull" across the paper. If a print has twelve colours, I’ve handled that piece of paper at least twelve separate times. There is no "print" button; there is only a sequence of mechanical steps that require absolute precision to ensure the colours line up—what we call 'registration.' If I’m a millimetre off on the tenth colour, the whole thing goes in the bin. That’s the high-wire act of the craft.
The Beauty of the 'Controlled Accident'
People often think "quality" means "perfection," but in fine art, quality often lies in the soul of the work. A digital print is identical every single time; it’s a commodity. Because screen printing is a manual process, the pressure of my arm, the angle of the squeegee, and even the humidity in the room can subtly affect how the ink hits the paper. These aren't "errors"—they are the fingerprints of the artist. It’s what makes a limited edition legitimate. When you buy a screen print, you aren't buying a copy of an artwork; you are buying an original piece of art that happens to exist in a small, hand-crafted series.
Ultimately, screen printing is a slow art form in a fast world. It’s about the tactile marriage of heavy-weight cotton paper and rich, tactile ink. It’s a process that demands patience, a bit of muscle, and a lot of technical know-how. When you hang one on your wall, you aren't just looking at an image—you're looking at a physical archive of the time and energy I spent in the studio.
Ready to see the difference for yourself? Browse the latest hand-pulled editions at olifowler.com.