Digital Printmaking

 

ARTIST’S BOOK OF VISUAL INTERTEXTUALITY GRAPHITE TEXT DRAWINGS AND HAND-MADE SLIPCASE OF AROUSING THE MIND SUITE OF PRINTS. MADE IN COLLABORATION WITH ADAMSON EDITIONS AND MICHAEL DENNIS. PHOTO BY KYLE KNODELL FOR PADDLE8.

ARTIST’S BOOK OF VISUAL INTERTEXTUALITY GRAPHITE TEXT DRAWINGS AND HAND-MADE SLIPCASE OF AROUSING THE MIND SUITE OF PRINTS. MADE IN COLLABORATION WITH ADAMSON EDITIONS AND MICHAEL DENNIS. PHOTO BY KYLE KNODELL FOR PADDLE8.

Prints from Drawings

In 2000, I began a series of austere graphic text drawings, which were composed of my hand-written transcriptions of passages from Henry James’ The Wings of the Dove, Freud’s Dora, the Hebrew Bible.  I juxtaposed quotes as I saw confluences among these works.  These works were both drawings and essays.  Every word was legible, especially in the greatly enlarged pigment prints.  Occasionally, I interjected my own thoughts between the quotations.  As I worked, I began to think of these strands of text as neurons, the space between them as a synaptic gap, and the thought, either the reader’s or my own, that linked them as the neurotransmitter carrying an electrical current across the gap.

In the same year, I began a collaboration with master digital printmaker David Adamson, founder of Adamson Editions in Washington D.C., an association that continues to the present time. David’s associate John Hughes, David, and I also made a series of pigment prints based on my text drawings.   Digital printing at this professional level allowed for an uncanny sense of graphite on a large scale, and for legibility of the text.

 

 

 

Prints from Paintings

In creating geometric abstraction prints like Candy and Interference, I was able to take advantage of the intensely-pigmented yet infinitely subtle range of hues that digital printing offers. 

These digital files were not scans; every line was re-drawn, every shape a single digital color.  They looked like paintings.  In this fast-evolving medium, every few months the paper or the inks would improve and offer yet greater possibilities.  I wanted to transpose some of my smallest oil paintings, two or three inches in either direction, into the largest scale possible.  Though I had chosen to paint them on this diminutive scale, I saw that the intervals within the painting could withstand any magnification.  For fun, my husband, architect Allan Greenberg, made a montage by placing one of these paintings, Remembering the Miracles, on the side of the National Museum of Women in the Arts.