Making It Real: Why I Print

I first learned about fine art photo printing from a master photographer and printmaker, and it did little to encourage me to pursue printing my own photos. On one hand, the excitement of watching your photo, the one you took and you edited, roll out of the printer, and then holding it, a three dimensional thing embedded with your vision; well, it can’t be duplicated on any device, handheld or tabletop. On the other hand, the process was downright intimidating. It’s technical to begin with, and even more so, you’re creating ART, so your print must hold up to the work of the greats. I liked the prints made for me that day, but I passed up several chances to buy my own printer over the years, always with an excuse —- We’re moving, Where will I put it? Ink and paper are expensive —- but knowing the real reason went back to that first experience.

Now, ten plus years later, an Epson 700 sits in the corner of my office, and I couldn’t be happier with my decision. Here’s why.

A print is three dimensional, a thing to examine. You’ve had the experience of seeing a great painting in a book or website, but when you stand in front the actual painting —- say a Van Gogh —- you can examine each detail, brush stroke, the 3-D-ness of it. A print is no different.

Since participating in a paper-making workshop at ASU under the tutelage of Karla Elling, I’ve appreciated the art of making paper. Now that I’m printing, I’ve discovered the choice of photo papers is nearly endless. I especially like the paper made by Awagami in Japan, paper that becomes one with the ink, and I recently got some samples from Moab that’s like watercolor paper (The color image above is printed with it). These papers made from cotton or mulberry or bamboo, and they all give something a little different to my photos.

Printing makes me a better photographer. I can do all the editing I want on the computer screen, but when I hold a print in my hands I see what I’ve done well and where I need to improve. This has been especially true of printing black and white images. Now, when I’m out with my camera, I can actually see in black and white, see the tones, the shadows and highlights, and know what will translate well as a print.

To paraphrase Ansel Adams, the screen is practice, the print performance. Practice is practice is practice. You drill and repeat endlessly, but the performance is your chance to show your stuff.

More than anything, though, I’ve learned from my friend Luigi that printing is fun. Shouldn’t that be enough?