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Back at the Alhambra

I’ve started on a series of medium-sized liquid-metal prints on Alhambra themes. Granada’s medieval fortress and palace has been for centuries a source of inspiration for artists, writers and photographers, so much so that today it’s difficult to get an original take on it. This time I’m relying on the inherent looseness of the liquid-metal technique to try to achieve Alhambra images with some originality.

I had one of those wonderful printmaking experiences at the beginning of this project. The first proofs I pulled from the first plate, El Patio del Harem, looked frankly great and I thought, “This is it, I’ll print up an edition.” But before I could start, I took a close look at one of the plates from which I had just pulled a proof. In the ink residue left on the plate I could still see beautiful detail. So I rubbed a light layer of yellow ink into it, rolled some fresh silver ink on top and put it back through the press, making a “ghost print.” I was shocked to see how superior the ghost was to the live one. I have placed the original print at the top of this post, the ghost below. See if you don’t agree with me.

This print was done with liquid metal on an old, previously-etched copper plate, a still life with fruit. I put the cold solder on with a palette knife and when it was still quite sticky I drew into it with a stylus. I didn’t press any texture elements into it until about an hour and a half later. I left it overnight to harden and printed it on 600 gr. handmade paper. The ghost print was printed on 375 gr. Paperki handmade paper. I like this one better.

Mel Strawn writes:

I’ve gotten back to printmaking with ink and offer this as an interim finding regarding our exposure questions related to digital inkjet transparencies.

Perhaps I mentioned it before, but the way one sees a grayscale image on screen, the way one sees an inkjet transparency against white paper (with light reflecting back through the transparency and the way the transparency is seen by the light box (or sun) are not the same. Interestingly, an inkjet printer will render the image as seen on screen quite accurately, excelling in detail rendition across the whole range; whites and subtle grays are clearly ‘there’ as are details in the near black, deep tone area. I’m setting aside the difference between acetate transparency material and inkjet transparency material as a separate issue for the moment, though I know Maureen feels strongly about it.

(Maureen’s note: My feeling is that inkjet acetates have a coating on them that they require in order to pick up the ink properly. That coating introduces a slight gray tone into the plate which makes it impossible to achieve a proper white in the print. I prefer to use originals which are printed on a laser printer on perfectly transparent laser acetates .)

The black-to-white images I have been working with should be examined in (say) Photoshop in a ‘curves’ adjustment window. This shows the gamma curve of any image as a straight line reaching diagonally from white to black. In my set up white is at bottom left, black at top right: one can modify the apparent contrast (or density) of the image in any area – essentially by steepening the curve. See the figures here:

The ‘original’ image above. The gamma curve altered to increase the contrast in both the dark and light zones of the image, here more so in the darks than the lights. Absolute blacks and whites stay the same.

In my case, to get a transparency with both lights and darks holding the details and contrasts desired, this is what I’ve come to regarding the way to adjust a transparency that prints O.K. on a digital inkjet printer so that its image will be O.K. when taken through the different and additional steps in solar exposure and printing.

One basically tries for a higher contrast transparency to get a good, wide-range-valued print in solar processing. There are different ways to do essentially this same adjustment in Photoshop.

I have not yet gotten the exact photographer’s data on this (more detailed and technical than I now use) because the book supposedly being worked on has not come out yet. I will pursue that source further.

The other factors we work with, time of exposure, etc. remain a bit intuitive and harder to deal with in theory beyond this: the polymer is hardened by exposure to light. Longer exposure, correspondingly, tends to preserve “whites” – too much, however can burn out delicate light tones (the time factor). Darks: pure blacks should get near zero exposure (denser pigment coverage in the transparency) and distinct light tones (white, light grey, med-light, medium , etc.

The first five steps in a ten-step gray scale) need to be denser in a solar transparency than in a file to become an inkjet print. (I am currently testing to see just how much denser.)

With the longer exposure used typically by Maureen, this makes sense; whites are better hardened and, because of the denser tonality in light grays their gray tonality is protected-and deep darks and black need really dense pigmentation in the transparency to protect them from long exposure burnout.

The small print (2×5″) enclosed and here was made from an inkjet transparency controlled as above in Photoshop gamma curve adjustment. Exposure time in a Dan Weldon light box was: halftone screen – 30 sec.. Transparency – 90 sec.  Washout – 100 sec.

Critical description: white remained white, blacks are black-while essential light grays are held. The transition between middle gray to black is slightly more abrupt than as seen on a digital screen, close and accepted (for now).

The next day I did a larger print, increasing all times by 10 seconds. Similar results. This was in sun not light box….

So, the quest for perfect theory to match process continues. I think it is good to make clear when we teach others (I do it too, as I did for years in my classes using conventional, pre solar techniques) that as complete a theoretical basis as possible be made available.

“At this stage these findings are based on my observations and tests; they are not “exact”, i.e., calibrated so that they yield a formula to be applied blind. Printmaking is an adventure with all sorts of variables-and that is part of the subjective and very individual challenge.”

So, that’s where I’m at the moment and hope this is maybe helpful. We all know that what is really important (for some mystical human reason) is to do good art and have a good life doing it while we can.

Our best-loved dog was a magical toy-terrier bitch, one of the first after our changeover from big breeds (great danes, and Spanish mastiffs) to little ones (pekes, yorkie crosses, shih tsu halfbreeds). I never fully forgave Mike for naming her Chichirriqui. He thought it was a playful name. I thought it was disrespectful for such a serious little person as Chichi, who could sit on a chair with her chin on the table and keep everybody enchanted just by cocking her head, rolling her eyes and flicking her ears first in one direction, then another. She was a delightful little one-dog circus with a wide repertory of such techniques for keeping people’s attention properly centered on her: bundy jumps, pa’ ca pa’ yas, spin arounds and shivers.

One day I was standing at the workbench in Mike’s studio listening to my friend Carla relate the telephone drama of her gall bladder. Chichi was sitting attentively on the little sofa opposite. There was a biro lying there, and as Carla launched into her second list of things she could no longer eat, I picked it up and took a sheet of clean paper out of the printer. While Carla explained to me the glories of keyhole surgery I started making squiggles and cross hatches with the pen, the sort of thing one does when trapped on the phone. When the phone conversation was over I dropped my little doodle into a folder and forgot about it.

I had just begun to experiment with solar plates at that time, Mike found the doodle on his workbench and came to me with it in his hand. “This is delightful,” he said. “What is it?”

It’s a sketch I made the other day,” I said. “Leave it here, maybe I’ll use it for a solar-plate print.”

This was a simple print to do.  I took the original drawing and had a
photocopy made onto  transparent laser acetate, doubling  it’s
size to 13×17.5 cm.   I made a positive intaglio plate using a Dan Welden solar
plate and his aquatint screen.  The color is a mixture of magenta, primrose
yellow and a touch of black.  It’s printed on Arpa handmade paper.

Thanks to Spanish Musician, David Little

“I can’t do serious work at home,” says 27-year-old Spanish musician, David Little, founder, songwriter, vocalist and lead guitarist of the Málaga-based Spanish rock group, V de Vodka. “At home I’m surrounded by friends, family, bars and all sorts of other distractions. But I’ve got work to do. I’ve got to get a record out! It was clear to me I had to find a secluded and inspiring place where I could hole up for three weeks and do all the arrangements for the 10 songs destined for our new record.”

David found the place he needed on a sunny hillside outside Granada–El Gallinero. “It’s perfect here,” he says. “It’s just secluded enough, and quiet, with  soothing views across the valley and plenty of space to set up the recording equipment. I’ve been here for two weeks and the arrangements are done. Now I’ve got a week left to work on my own stuff.”

Besides being a musician David is a graduate in Audio-Visual Communication with a masters degree in Business Communication, and experience working in a Madrid agency. “That didn’t last long,” he says. “The crisis hit and the job evaporated, along with a lot of others. So I was obliged to go back and embrace my first love: music. Actually I mixed it with communication, my second love. A  couple of friends and I created a new online music and cinema magazine called Thriller Webzine. So I have the privilege of working two jobs, both of which cost me money.”

“The return to music was a bittersweet experience,” adds David. “I discovered that many of Spain’s city halls are finding pretexts to close the music bars which are the life blood of Spain’s emerging musicians. Now that nobody sells CD’s any more, live performances are the only source of income for young bands, and for old ones, for that matter. The municipal authorities don’t seem to realize that a society cannot prosper just with politicians, police, bankers and accountants, and dentists. “

David belongs to the new generation of young “indignados,” now referred to as the 15M Movement after they occupied la Puerta del Sol, Madrid’s principal plaza, on May 15, 2011 (accompanied by demonstrations in 57 other Spanish cities) and set the dominoes in motion for similar protest movements around the world.

So, this is the lad who brought music to the Gallinero. Thank you, David, for adding a new dimension to the Gallinero’s creative repertory. We wish you the best of luck in your generation’s struggle against what Matt Taibbi of  The Rolling Stone calls the world’s “vampire squids.”

1. The Silence—People coming from advanced societies have more of everything: more money, more luxury, more labor-saving devices, more entertainment possibilities… and more noise. When they arrive here in this Andalusian backwater and spend their first night in the Gallinero, they find the silence deafening. If it weren’t for the counterpoint of the riverflow and the birdsong they might find it downright spooky. They soon get used to it, however, and I suspect it becomes an important element contributing to their concentration and productivity throughout their stay.
2. The Sleep—People tend to sleep better in the Gallinero, both at night and for siestas. (One artist admitted sheepishly, “I love the siesta. It’s like an excuse to take a nap!”) I suspect the silence is a factor, accompanied by the gentle white noise of the rushing river. The air is clean and healthful, as well. We’re at 700 meters of altitude, which is above the pollution level here. Maybe being far away from one’s day-to-day cares and obligations also helps.
3. The Space—The Gallinero measures almost 500 square feet, not counting the front and back terraces. So there’s room for a spacious sleeping/work room—I know this sounds unusual, but everyone agrees that it works—and a good-sized kitchen/lounge with access to a little sunbathing/stargazing terrace with mountain views.  The workspace that people find revolutionary is a 5.30-meter-long (that’s 16 feet) built-in standup workbench interrupted only by an ink-jet printer and a set of computer speakers. It’s an area where artists can not only work but, perhaps more importantly, spread out their work for selecting, editing, or just taking a long critical look at it. Whatever its appeal, artists like it a lot.

Go to part II of II

Recorded in my studio in Granada, they are:

• Traditional Printmaking 2–This is the follow up to Traditional Printmaking 1, and discusses aquatint, sugar lift and marbling techniques.
• Printmaking Tips–This is a collection of shortcuts, safety measures, ways of economizing and working more efficiently. Taken together they should make your studio experience more pleasant and productive.

You can find previews and order links for these new videos here on the Printmaking Master Classes site.

They divide their time between the creative cloister of the Gallinero and my studio. We usually work together for five hours each morning. Then, after lunch, they make their own hours, either working in the studio or sketching glimpses of the village and the surroundings. Some of them stay in the studio past midnight.

Granada is one of the most enchanting tourist destinations in Europe. Do my artists spend much time going sightseeing, to the beach, shopping or dining in our city’s fine restaurants? Not too much, with the notable exception of a visit to the Alhambra, which is they consider a must. Mainly they make prints. And all of them take home a fat portfolio of full of them.

5.   The Garden—Our garden used to be much more orderly but since our kids left home the area we cultivate is pretty much limited to the flower beds around the house and the Gallinero, the outlying fruit and olive trees, the grapevines over the terrace, and the strawberry patch in our former swimming pool.

The remainder of our hillside garden, left to its own devices for the past decade, has reverted to its primal state—overgrown with prickly-pear cactus topped by great rolling swells of morning glories.

In short, between the voracious morning glories and the out-of-control patches of honeysuckle, the datura bushes (“loco weed” to you westerners) with their satiny white trumpets, and spiky acanthus plants, our garden is a mess. It has only one redeeming quality. Artists love it.

6.   The Wellbeing—That’s the best word I can think of to describe it. Let me tell you about Jaime. He came with his compañera—that’s a wonderful Spanish word which means girlfriend, mate, significant other—to do a solar-plate workshop. When they arrived he seemed distant and frankly unhappy. I mentioned it to Ana. “Jaime has bouts of depression,” she said.

So the three of us started working together in my studio. Jaime has an extraordinary command of Photoshop and, before we were finished, he had produced from his photographs some of the most beautifully-nuanced solar-plate prints I have ever seen. In the process he changed from a lost soul into a cheerful and self-confident fine-art printmaker. It was not only a remarkable transition to share with him, but a powerful demonstration of the healing effects of peace and artwork on a troubled soul.

That’s my analysis of what goes on here. I confess it sounds rosy, but it’s all true. For me it has been an ongoing source of wonder. For years I always worked by myself, which is great, though it can get lonesome. But in the past couple of years I have met and worked with so many wonderful people from all over the world—12 countries at last count—that suddenly I have an extraordinary group of new artist friends on which the sun never sets. What a rare privilege.