Last week I described the experience of signing up and purchasing the supplies, in this entry, I’ll talk about the first day of class itself.

The teacher of the course (“Collographs and Beyond”) was Lisa Mackie (http://www.lisamackie.com), described in the online course information:

"….a master printer who heads a print workshop under her name. She has been visiting professor at NYU, Cooper Union, RIT, and is currently teaching at Stony Brook University and Dowling College, NY. Her work is in collections which include the Baltimore Museum, Boston Museum of Fine Arts, Yale Art Museum, and others."

All the other students in the class were women. I don’t know why that is -- if it’s indicative of the nature of collograph prints, or simply a fluke, because there were plenty of men at MGC working away on silkscreen printing and making plates. Not that I met any of them. We – and they – were too busy for that.

Lisa Mackie began by asking us to introduce ourselves and tell a little bit about our art and what we did with it. For such a small group, the age range was wide. The oldest student was probably in her 80s (I didn’t ask) and the youngest under 30 (I didn’t ask). Except for me and one other woman, all of them had degrees in art, experience in printing, and were or had been art teachers.

There were only two days for classes, so after the introductions, we gathered around one of the work tables and LM began to quickly demonstrate basic collograph technique. She took a sheet of paper and began to cut abstract shapes out it, also folding and bending the paper into different levels, talking a mile a minute about the uses of collographs, the types of ink to use, the names of other artists, the entire time. Then she showed us how to “fix” the shapes with the acrylic medium, layering it onto the paper while gluing down certain portions. We were sent to do the same.

I’m not very good with abstract shapes. I’ve never found much pleasure in extremely abstract paintings or sculptures. I can appreciate a de Kooning, or a Rothko or Gorky from an… abstract… point of view but I’ve never really wanted to emulate them. However, determined to focus on technique and not product, I began diligently cutting at random and folding and pressing and gluing. After a bit, I had a lump or two or three of paper that I thought I could work with.

I was still gluing and pressing when LM called us over for the next step: preparing the paper. First, there was a quick demonstration of the proper way to tear paper into smaller portions using a hard edge (which was new to me – I would have reached for scissors), how to soak paper without it dissolving in the sink, and the best way to leave it to absorb the water so it would be a proper ground for the inks.

LM had several pots of brightly colored inks and a glass slab or tray. The ink was doled out onto the slab in globs from the little pots, then worked with an ink knife, which resembles a spatula. When the ink was smooth and consistent, LM demonstrated how to apply it to the paper with the ink card. You could use all one color, mix colors, or add colors later. After the ink was spread on various areas of the paper, she took the tartlan fabric and began to rub it into the groves made when the acrylic medium had dried so the ink would be well established on the plate, while at the same time removing the excess ink so it wouldn’t squirt out and make a mess when printing. Then the plate was “polished” with newsprint paper. Finally, all those items on the materials list began to make sense. Expensive sense.

Back I went to my table, to continue gluing, drying the glue with a hair dryer to hurry the process along (a trick I’ve used at home on other art work when I’m in a hurry – which I usually am). I left off to go watch the first pressing demonstration.

The presses are large tables with handles (which I kept walking into – I have some nice black and blue marks just about hip level as souvenirs) and huge metal rollers. The top of the tables are clear acrylic or glass with graphs, or registers, for guiding paper placement. The plate is laid directly onto the table, ink side up, then a piece of wet paper is laid on top. Several layers of newsprint are laid over this and then the felts are laid on top of the whole thing. The felts (which we were admonished several times are “very, very expensive”) protect the press from anything too sharp or harsh, or from having the roller sit directly on the table, and the layers of newsprint protect the felts from ink squirting onto felts.

This process almost takes longer to write about than to actually do. As long as everything is well-prepared beforehand, and the appropriate amount of caution is taken in keeping the damp paper clean and the press itself protected, a pressing can be done in as little as five minutes. I’m not able to work wearing rubber or latex gloves (allergies), so the hardest part for me was keeping my hands glue and ink free when it came time to handle the paper.

So, here’s my first printing:

After the first printing, you can rub a clear medium over the plate again and what you get is a second or “ghost” print. Here’s my ghost print:

The beauty of this process is that you can continue to layer shapes or do additional inking and make prints and ghost prints over and over again, as long as the plate lasts, which was one of the reasons “real” printing appealed to me. Everyone knew from our little introductions that I sold works at science fiction conventions, so they saw a “rocket ship” in my abstract forms. For me, not so much. I kept thinking it looked like a bomb, in several senses of the word. So, I did another shape and added a sort of sun and nimbus effect, inked those shapes and ran it through the press again.

Not very impressive are they? Told you abstract was not my thing. Still, I was pleased enough -- learning the technique was the point.

Some of the other women, however, had an amazing way of making abstracts lovely. Suzanne Miazga (www.suzannefmiazga.com), for instance, an art teacher from San Francisco, made a lovely print from folded paper shapes in various shades of blue. She kept taking the same shapes and re-inking them in blue, or using the clear medium for ghosting, and repositioning and reprinting on the same piece of paper. I wish I could show you how lovely it looked. Somehow it had a Japanese effect, like some watercolor scroll of a koi pond, if the koi were made out of various shades of faded denim.

This process -- learning to do the original plate, inking, pressing and ghost pressing -- pretty much used up the entire six hours. There was a short break for lunch around noon and then after 4:30 we were supposed to have time to work on our own. However, LM had brought some sample prints with her and she spent 15 or 20 minutes explaining the processes that went into making them. It was interesting to see very large pieces using the technique that took me almost a whole afternoon to begin to get a grasp on, and I am already working out future pieces in my head.

The supply list we had received before class (see last week's entry) had suggested we bring samples of our work and discuss our methods. A few of us had brought some folders and portfolios, including me. I showed some of my prints -- both the copier prints and the ones made from the styrofoam plates, such as this one:

Lois Linet had brought giclee prints of her beautiful collage works: they impressed me as delicate narratives of time and longing -- lots of clocks and flowers and insects.

Kristie Valentine, the other young woman, had brought a couple of samples of prints, made using an interesting material and technique. Using chipboard scraps that she got from a construction site, she laid a drawing on top of the board and using pressure, traced the drawing onto the chipboard. When the impression was complete, she inked the board, laid paper on top and rubbed the paper, almost like taking a rubbing off a headstone. The resulting "print" had great texture, the wood grain a perfect pattern for the picture which was of the inside of a building under construction. It gave the picture a lot of energy and expression. Krissie was totally willing to share her technique and to listen to ideas from Lisa Mackie and the others in the class about how the pictures could be enhanced.

It was a good day. Stretching my artistic muscles, learning a useful new technique to add to my repertoire, was gratifying. But the interaction with the other artists added just that extra bit of seasoning to the experience.

Making art, almost any kind of art, is a lonely business. Even if you’re drawing while riding the subway with half of the city, or working at your easel in a crowded park, you are, of necessity, mainly in your own head. And your conversations are mainly internal: What is that line? Where is the light coming from? Is that a blue/green, or a green/blue? How does one get hands to look like hands? Leave in that tree; take out that boat? At art shows, you’re busy trying to figure out what the public wants, connecting with other artists, trying to learn what information will advance you in art as your business. Even if you see something unique at a show, there’s little chance to learn about a new method, a new material, or new idea from the other artists, who are all busy doing the same thing you are.

But an occasional class like this one – small enough to get personal attention, large enough to include a variety of experiences – brings opportunities for real dialogue with other artists. Four other women used the same basic items (paper, medium, scissors, ink) as I did, and we got five totally different works. I had a chance to ask them why they made the choices they did, what did they wish they had done differently, what would they change next time?

I enjoyed listening to the young artists and seeing their techniques born of curiosity (what would that look like?) and necessity (I'm a poor artist -- what would be an inexpensive art material?). It was rewarding to speak with older artists, generous in sharing information and tricks of the trade – both technical and business. It is also a comfort to see that no matter how long they live, artists will seek to learn new techniques, develop new ideas, and make new connections. As Michelangelo said in a letter written when he was 84: "Ancora Imparo” -- I am still learning".

Next entry: Silk collographs, more art work, and why artists hold onto everything!