On Contemporary Printmaking

The Diary of an Art Advisor

If you’ve ever looked at a wall full of framed prints and wondered what on earth the difference is between an etching and a lithograph, or whether the words edition of 20 mean scarcity or mass production, you’re not alone. Printmaking is one of the most rewarding and misunderstood corners of the art world. It’s a place where ink meets alchemy, and where, for both artists and collectors, extraordinary things can happen on paper.

Prints are often a way in. They’re democratic, relatively affordable, and, crucially, they let you live with work by serious artists without needing to remortgage the dog. But they’re also, as any artist will tell you, far from easy. Printmaking is a discipline with rules, processes, historical baggage, and its own kind of mysticism. It’s not a shortcut. It’s a commitment - often one undertaken in collaboration with highly skilled print technicians, many of whom are artists in their own right.

Paul Housley, Clock Watching, 2023 - The Good Ship Presents

So what is a print, really? And which kinds matter - if we’re being honest - to collectors? Which are easiest to make, and which require the artist to sell their soul (or at least spend hours etching copper plates with nitric acid)?

All printmaking techniques fall under four main categories:

1. Relief (woodcut, linocut): where the raised surface is inked, and the recessed areas remain blank. Think bold forms, texture, and that lovely slight embossing. A democratic process, famously used by everyone from Hokusai to Picasso in his cubist experiments.

2. Intaglio (etching, drypoint, aquatint, mezzotint): the reverse of relief – ink is held in the incised lines or marks, wiped clean on the surface, and pressed under immense pressure. These are complex, layered, and prized. A well-pulled etching can feel like it breathes.

3. Planographic (lithography): drawing on a flat surface (traditionally limestone), exploiting the repulsion between oil and water. Lithos have a looseness and fluency – it’s drawing and painting as print. Think Toulouse-Lautrec’s posters.

4. Stencil (screenprint): ink is forced through a mesh screen, blocked in certain areas to create an image. This is Warhol. It can be crisp or painterly, minimal or brash – and in the hands of someone good, it sings.

Each has its own material history, its own aesthetic. But in the contemporary context, these lines blur. Many artists use hybrid techniques. Digital processes are now common too – pigment prints, giclées, risographs – and while some purists scoff, others embrace their flexibility and reach.

Erin O’Keefe, More and More, 2023 - Seventeen

(Lithography, letterpress and hand engraving are currently designated ‘endangered’ by Heritage Crafts as the number of practitioners with the knowledge retire and universities cut facilities in lieu of newer technologies.)

So why would a painter, sculptor or even digital artist turn to printmaking?

Partly, it’s the draw of limitation - the satisfaction of working within constraints. The plate size. The edition number. The drying time. These conditions force decisions, often leading to clarity and experimentation. The best printmakers talk about the press as a collaborator: it introduces chance, resistance, and sometimes a little miracle.

James Randell, for instance is an artist and printmaker who co-founded the Soho Revue print studio. They’re making serious, thoughtful prints in close dialogue with artists, allowing people to engage with work that might otherwise be out of reach. Randell’s own practice bridges abstraction and the architectural; his prints feel carved from light and negative space. There’s a physicality to them - they’re not just images, but objects.

In fact, many artists say the print studio changes how they think. Marks become decisions. Time stretches. Editions force you to engage with subtle variation, to attend to process. It’s slow work - and in a fast world, that alone makes it worth doing.

For collectors, prints can be a gateway, and a good one. They’re affordable, and also, at their best, every bit as powerful as unique works. Some are modest in scale and price, others are major undertakings. A print isn’t just a reproduction. It’s a translation - a reimagining of the artist’s language through the structure of technique.

From a market point of view, here’s what matters:

· Edition size: Lower is better for collectibility. An edition of 10 is more valuable (and scarce) than one of 250 – though price should reflect that.

· Technique: Intaglio processes (etching, aquatint) tend to be more collectible than digital pigment prints, simply because they’re more labour-intensive and materially rich.

· Printer/Studio: Where and how the print was made counts. Stamps, certificates, and signatures matter – as does the reputation of the collaborating studio (Tamarind, Paupers Press, Soho Revue, etc.).

· Artist Involvement: Was the artist hands-on? Did they sign, approve, and work closely with the printmaker? This all contributes to value and significance.

But beyond the investment logic, there’s something else. Living with prints is great. They reward time, proximity and seasonal light - works on paper change with the day. And they allow you to engage with serious work in a way that’s both generous and practical. For young collectors, prints offer a foothold. For seasoned ones, they’re often the thread that connects a collection’s ideas.

Printmaking is full of metaphors: the press as constraint, the plate as memory, the act of transferring as transformation. It’s about repetition with difference - doing the same thing again, but never quite. There’s a kind of humility in it. A respect for surface. A patience. And for many artists, that’s liberating.

In a time where everything is instant, printmaking reminds us that good things take time. That labour is worth something. That touch matters. It’s not about nostalgia, or resisting the digital tide - it’s about using what’s available to create something rigorous, resonant, and real.

So if you’re curious - as an artist or collector - start by looking. Go to a print fair, or a studio open day. Watch someone ink a plate. Feel the tooth of a hand-made paper. Listen to a printmaker talk about a technique with the same care others reserve for poetry. Because in a way, that’s what this is. Technique and poetics. Image and object. Multiplicity and intimacy. A language made of ink and intention - pressed into the world.

If you’re curious about collecting prints, I’d love to hear from you.

Get in touch: www.blackbirdrook.com

Follow along on Instagram for insights and available works: blackbird_rook

Forgive my self indulgence as I include one of my prints here - click the image details for links.

Greg Rook, Harvest, 2015