ABOUT
[Linocut, Graphic Communication]
As part of my MA Graphic Communication Design journey at Central Saint Martins, this project explores how I used hands-on iteration to let a critical design enquiry emerge naturally, rather than starting with a fixed concept.
Choice of Medium and Visual References
To start this practical enquiry, I chose to work with linocut printing. It's a medium far removed from my usual digital design workflow. Rather than creating a shape from scratch, I selected an existing botanical linocut print by British self-taught artist and printmaker Pamela Haining as my starting point. The goal here is not to plagiarize, but to use copying as a structured method of research through practice, allowing me to learn the physical technique of lino cutting step-by-step.
Selecting a botanical subject was a deliberate choice to step entirely outside my comfort zone. In my usual work, I rarely engage with organic or natural motifs, preferring clean digital structures. Combining a new tactile medium, a hands-on methodology, and an unfamiliar visual subject creates the ideal environment to challenge my habits, embrace physical constraints, and see how manual handling transforms an image over repeated iterations.
The First Copy: Tracing, Carving, and Initial Questions
The first phase of this project focused on producing a direct copy of the Haining reference. The transfer workflow required several precise physical steps:
- Digital to paper: Copying the botanical linocut line work directly from a digital screen onto tracing paper.
- Graphite transfer: Transferring the graphite drawing onto the lino block by burnishing it with a spoon.
- Material carving: Physically cutting away the negative spaces using specialized V and U gouges.
- Inking and printing: Rolling oil-based ink onto the carved matrix and applying manual pressure to transfer the image onto paper.
As someone with minimal experience in linocutting, this initial step immediately brought practical challenges, such as working entirely in reverse logic to ensure the final impression printed correctly. However, as soon as the first print came out, deeper questions began to emerge. I found myself wondering about the total number of iterations needed to reach a definitive outcome, but more importantly, about the nature of the copy itself. In this chain of reproduction, what is truly "the copy"? Is it the original tracing paper, the carved lino block itself, or the final inked paper print? This uncertainty highlighted how physical iteration transforms a simple exercise of copying into an ongoing enquiry into the nature of the original.
My first copy of Pamela Haining
Monstera adansonii Leaves Linocut
Process
Copying the copy
After the first print, I wanted to see how many iterations it would take for visible changes and errors to appear. Instead of going back to the original reference, I used my own printed result as the template for the next block, repeating the entire process from tracing to carving and printing.
Comparing the first and final iterations revealed clear differences. Upgrading to better gouges mid-way made my carving finer, but because each block was traced from the previous print rather than the original source, the image steadily drifted from the initial reference. This step showed how technique improves with better tools even as an image naturally evolves through repeated copying.
High-resolution scans coming soon
Process
Disrupting the Chain: Material Variations and Human Limits
After establishing the initial 4-step reproduction chain, I began to question how far I could disrupt this system. What happens when you remove a step, alter a material, or introduce human constraint into a repetitive process? To investigate this, I produced 9 new iterations of the same botanical print, systematically altering one key variable at a time to observe how the visual outcome shifted.
First, I experimented with different paper types and textured supports—such as kraft paper, aluminum, and heavy textured fabrics. Each surface absorbed ink and responded to pressure differently. When I used these textured prints as references for the next blocks, the physical flaws and grain of each material were absorbed straight into the new carved matrix.
However, this introduced a major technical bottleneck: the water-based ink took too long to dry, smudging the tracing paper and slowing down my workflow. Instead of waiting, I turned this limitation into a shortcut by eliminating the tracing paper altogether. I pressed the freshly printed, wet paper directly onto a new lino block to transfer the design. This direct ink-on-lino transfer not only accelerated the process, but also introduced raw, unpredictable textures where the ink bled or skipped.
Finally, after spending hours carving the exact same motif across multiple blocks, I wanted to test the limits of my own recall. For the ultimate variation, I carved a block entirely from memory, without looking at any reference. I quickly realized how unreliable visual memory can be: the resulting print stripped away the subtle details of the original, transforming it into a simplified, abstract scheme. This final test highlighted the stark contrast between the systematic logic of reproduction and the inevitable distortion of human memory.
First, I experimented with different paper types and textured supports—such as kraft paper, aluminum, and heavy textured fabrics. Each surface absorbed ink and responded to pressure differently. When I used these textured prints as references for the next blocks, the physical flaws and grain of each material were absorbed straight into the new carved matrix.
However, this introduced a major technical bottleneck: the water-based ink took too long to dry, smudging the tracing paper and slowing down my workflow. Instead of waiting, I turned this limitation into a shortcut by eliminating the tracing paper altogether. I pressed the freshly printed, wet paper directly onto a new lino block to transfer the design. This direct ink-on-lino transfer not only accelerated the process, but also introduced raw, unpredictable textures where the ink bled or skipped.
Finally, after spending hours carving the exact same motif across multiple blocks, I wanted to test the limits of my own recall. For the ultimate variation, I carved a block entirely from memory, without looking at any reference. I quickly realized how unreliable visual memory can be: the resulting print stripped away the subtle details of the original, transforming it into a simplified, abstract scheme. This final test highlighted the stark contrast between the systematic logic of reproduction and the inevitable distortion of human memory.
High-resolution scans coming soon