Tag Archives: Mono Print

Dachshunds, Duos and Brazil

Here are a few new gelatin prints – some ideas are works in progress. It usually takes 20-30 images before I get it down. That means I have 25 to go for the Dachsies and boucoup for the Duets. I’m up for it!

Dachshunds

Dachsunds #2

Brazil

Brazil #1

Brazil #2B

Brazil #3

Duet

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My Gelatin Prints on Display at Lakeside Coffee House

A grouping of 24 gelatin plate prints from 4 series is currently on display at Lakeside Coffee House 402 W. Lakeside St – right behind the knitting show. Great coffee and food and a fabulous view of Lake Monona. The show will be on display until the first week of April. Come on down and see it!

"Garden: Day"

Aside

Here are a few new gelatin prints from the early part of February 2012. I’m exploring subjective images that tap dance on the edge of reality. From the Mali Series: FROM THE RAVEN SERIES:

Papa Wheelie’s Print Shop is now open on ETSY!

Yes! You can now see my latest gelatin plate prints and purchase them as well on ETSY. Papa Wheelie is proud to present . Papa Wheelie’s Print Shop A good sample of work will be available with new images added every couple days. If you have questions or if you are interested in acquiring one of the prints, please feel free to contact me any time via the email contact link. Suggestion: my series of images look great in groups of two and three!

The Fisher

Gelatin Plate Printing

To all my adoring fans… I’m sorry that it’s been so long since i posted. I won’t go into the drama of my life except to say I am ‘between jobs’ and that sucks. BUT it does allow me to explore my studio a bit deeper and I’ve been deeply into Gelatin Plate Printing. Here are a few samples from the last month of work. I have some very hot prints that have not been photo-documented yet. I’ll post them later.

Gelatin Plate printing is a mono-printing process that uses a plate made out of… GELATIN!

Gelatin Plate (L) with Ink template, paper and ink roller (R)

The plate is inked with water based relief printing ink

A stencil (shown) or even natural objects like grass, leaves, or stems are laid on the inked plate

Paper is laid on, pressed by hand, and removed. This is the first or original print

The stencil is removed, revealing the 'Ghost' print (this is the juicy stuff)

By layering ink colors and different stencils or shapes, the print becomes very deep and textured. Here are some samples:

Mediation: an early piece with stems, yoga stencil and things

OCEAN I

The Gelatin Plate will eventually degrade - become pitted, cracked and moldy. This only adds to the texture and surprise of the image. This is a good example of a degraded gelatin plate surface

CROWD OUTSIDE THE STATEHOUSE

From the FACE SERIES

From the FACE SERIES

From the FACE SERIES II

From the FACE SERIES II


From the FACE SERIES II

And while this post is getting longer and longer, I’ll just add a couple more recent prints from what is looking like my Planetary Face Series

From the Planetary Face Series

Taking Time to Drift the Everglades in my Brain

Even old things need some attention from time to time. The old goose-neck iMac is still good for recording music and checking messages when the teenager is monopolizing the fleeter first floor PC. I revisited the iTunes (despite lack of portable music player) to see what the status of the 5.6 days and 9.32 Gigabytes of music was. Oy! So many duplicates, and this library is so swollen, like some lazy cat on a sunny window sill (where the food bowl resides). So I
elect to de-dupe and de-dupe, and then it’s midnight on Friday, and then I’m renaming song files that have cryptic names — the result of illicit pier to pier file sharing (what fun that was!).

And so I start sampling titles that I don’t recognize…

mouth of the river

Mouth of the River. Transfer Drawing

I climb inside some headphones to keep the speakers quiet. In here it’s like instant 1971 — cloistered in a messy bedroom with a cork-screw cable connecting me to a life support machine, the yellow and red lights blinking, the mauve walls and smudgy windows reflected in the wobbling surface of vinyl, needle gobbling the grooves, feeding my gray matter. bringing on sleep to a psychadelic night. In the phones the tracks race left and right and center, voices layered like sardines, clear of the usual house sounds that confuse the purity of the artist.

So I start correcting artist info, album names, titles, and renaming my own tracks that I recorded during stretches of un and under-employment. Garageband conglomerations. Loudon Wainwright covers. Unsolicited theme music for an Arkansas situation comedy. Tributes to Patricia Ann Reed Evans. Things get a little fuzzy and unclear… I get a little lost as I paddle around the cypress trees of this dream… was she really there, behind the tall grasses and dappled sun rays, naming the flowers, like a bird, eating the flax seeds, rambling on as the room emptied?

Here are some tracks, apparently recorded digitally direct from someone’s scratchy vinyl, of the obscure rock artist Terry Reid, who’s reedy voice would’ve given Robert Plant a run for his money (and so legend has it that he was in line to audition for the as yet not established super group Led Zeppelin). Here he sings Season of the Witch and July and Rich Kid Blues:

Been having bad times…I’m paying dues
got shoes and money, good times too
Always play to win…always seem to lose.
that’s why I think I got the Rich Kid Blues
that’s why I think I got the Rich Kid Blues

The dim light of a party den, a garage attic, appears yellow and smokey and beer moistened before me, the memory of that voice on a flip-out record player seeps into my brain, crackling – the young faces of my youth floating about like tiny vessels on a placid lake, the projectionist’s light slowly fading.

transfer3

A Beer at the Boat Landing. Transfer Drawing

Then, like the ball in a pinball machine, I riccochet into the new millenium. This program elects to organize alphabetically. And so after Stevie Wonder and Strawberry Alarm Clock, here comes Sufjan Stevens, pitching his life-saver over the oily black surface of my river of memory, pulling me back in, and the faces of my children replace the lost friends of high school:

I fell in love again
all things go, all things go
drove to Chicago
all things know, all things know
we sold our clothes to the state
I don’t mind, I don’t mind
I made a lot of mistakes
in my mind, in my mind

you came to take us
all things go, all things go
to recreate us
all things grow, all things grow
we had our mindset
all things know, all things know
you had to find it
all things go, all things go

Where is that odd sensation that the light of day and the sound of music used to incite in my body? Was it the newness of it all, the first time-ness, that caused the shiver, the receptors not being so used to it so that it felt new every time… or have the chemicals and receiving points become dulled a bit, needing more, like the needle junkies’ dilema? Or is it the quandry of being adults in an adult world, where pondering potential is too often, dictated by media, replaced by the demand to pay attention to adequate health benefits, correct percentage of income going to retirement accounts, contributions to college funds, interest payments on personal debts, membership in the religion of your choice, where my body will end up…

transfer2

A Gathering at Sunset. Transfer Drawing

I mount my bike at 5 PM for the 6 mile ride home. In the west, the sky blazes with orange – the kind of orange that makes you think of something not real. A wide and deep orange, flared out across a mackerel sky, the kind of orange that makes you want to ride fast for open spaces, so you can capture it and press it against the tired chambers of your brain, challenge them to remember… or at least to wake up a bit. Around a turn, streetlights blur into white streaks, cars and trains clatter and grind, unlit pedestrians appear like gray ghosts in my headlight, and stop and go lights chatter ‘the walk sign is on to cross Atwood.” Over the capital dome, the orange becomes a low smear, dirty bronze, and then, barely a fringe on the graying cloud bank. Soon it’s just a curious memory, and then these words, still… unwritten. My tires crackle maple leaves along the darkened path. A rabbit races to my right. A man walks by, his dog’s head festooned with a red blinky. Soon my mind, lost in a new stream, considers the Friday night schedule ahead, the weekend tasks, the things I haven’t done, the guilt I bear for those that I neglect, and the retirement moneys I’ll never invest.

It’s time to get to work… it’s time to get the images down on paper, to weather proof the picnic table, to slow time to a crawl again.

Transfer1

Arrival. Transfer Drawing