How do you make a monotype?
Monotypes are a very painterly form of printmaking. There’s no carving into the plate, no materials glued to the plate, and nothing applied to the plate’s smooth surface, beyond pigment.
Inks can be rolled on the plate for full coverage with a brayer, and then removed with q-tips and scrapers to create an image in a subtractive process. This is called a dark field monotype, since you’re starting with a completely covered (or dark) plate.
Dark Field vs Light Field Monotype
You can also paint your image on the plate in a direct, additive manner, which is called a light field monotype. Dark field monotypes are (generally) single color, and light field monotypes can be either monochrome, or painted with a full palette of colors.
I’ve seen artists create beautiful full color light field monotypes by painting with thinned oil paints on a sheet of glass, and then hand pressing watercolor paper onto the wet pigments to transfer the imagery.
You Only Get One Monotype
On all monotypes, once the image feels right on the plate, soaked & blotted paper is laid on the still-wet pigments, and pressure is applied to transfer the ink from the plate to the paper. This is called a monotype, with the “mono” part of the word referring to the fact that you usually get just one print.
There is no repeatable matrix, or incised marks on the plate that you can edition in subsequent prints. (If there were any lines or marks etched into the plate, creating a recognizable, repeated pattern, the resulting prints would be called monoprints, not monotypes.)
You are welcome to join this All About Monotypes group to share and discuss various monotypes on Facebook.
Let Your Art-Control-Freak Go
In either method, the pressure of the transfer usually alters your careful mark making in the inks, and reveals all sorts of surprises in the print.
Monotype printmaking will totally wrinkle the rug under your inner control-freak, because no matter how careful you are with ink placement and removal, the pressure of the press will have its way with the art, altering your deliberate, controlled plans.
But fear not, because the beautiful lessons in that are served on visual platters of delight. You blink a few times, let go of your expectations, and soak up the new, surprisey goodness in your pulled print.
Monotype Ghost Prints
In the image above, you can still see a faint film of ink from the dog portrait rendered on the plate. If a second sheet of soaked and blotted paper is laid on that thin layer of left-behind pigment, and run through the press again, you can get what’s called a ghost print.
These fair pigment cousins of monotypes are one of my favorite offshoots of this method, because the tonal variations in each print are wholly different from their saturated parents, and they are perfect leaping off points for other media.
(If you have a Facebook account, watch this video posted by Pace Prints featuring artist Shara Hughes in her studio, creating large scale monotypes.)
Adding Media to Monotype Prints
The art in this post – Untethered Cultivar (cul·ti·var – noun BOTANY – a plant variety that has been produced in cultivation by selective breeding.) – started as a very faint ghost print. I’ve had it saved in my “unfinished” art file… You have one of those too, right? 🗂
Well, she’s been waiting patiently, while I pondered which media to dabble in. Since she’s printed on smooth Arches 88 printmaking paper, that eliminates wet pigments from the options.
Arches88 has no sizing in it, so wet pigments like watercolor or Dr. Ph. Martin’s inks would bloom, spread/sink through as if I were painting on a paper towel. So I started with colored pencils, and just kept going.
Art Studio Quicksand
You know when you sit down to work for just 15 minutes before less savory obligations arrive?
And then your art supplies take over, and you get pillowed into the cozy, creativity vortex…. and an audiobook makes time stop (currently, this one), and a cup of tea tastes so good, and the entirety of your maker self hunkers down, till you’re wholly engulfed in a very good art-making zone? Yeah, *those* moments.
I had a long list of To-Do’s the day I started this, and the wheels came right off that cart. I kept shading and layering color All. Day. Long. ;~D #butboywasitfun
When was the last time you Ditched-Your-Day for Art?
And Before I Forget
I just published a brandy-new online course called How to Title Your Art. 🎊
The curriculum includes everything I’ve learned to help title your art, after it’s completed, or before you start.
The art-title methods work on single pieces of art, or you can conjure titles for an entire series.
You’ll use relevant parts of each element of your art work to inform the title, without having to rely on “subject” titles.
Instead of naming a painting of a red barn “The Red Barn”, you can explore a more imaginative approach to naming your art with this three-option system.
If you struggle with finding compelling titles for your paintings, I hope this course and the worksheet downloads will help you. Click the graphic above to visit the course-page, and use that coupon code for a discount till Monday!
Thanks for your support in this new endeavor, and Happy Titling!
It was great to hang out today, and I’ll see you in the next post!
P.S. If Spring Cleaning is on your To-Do list in your creative space, grab a beverage, a pad of grid paper and a pencil, and visit these studio layout ideas and tips photos on Pinterest. #inspiration
Ophelia was painted when he (John Everett Millais) was 22. A painting on a minituristic detail on a non-minituristic scale, it is a tour de force of detailed depiction which at the historical point when photography was just emerging as a visual threat, out-records the recording power of the photograph. Art-historically. It marks a last stand in the war of the painter as sole guardian of visual truth. A photographer could get a woman to lie fully clothed in a stream but not a robin to perch above her head. The painter, Millais’s picture argues, has an imaginative and emotional advantage over the photographer. Ophelia, is passionate without the melancholy yearning of a young man waiting for love to happen; and imbued with a the delight in nature instilled by his fisherman grandfather, Ophelia’s stream, apart from anything else, is a fry fly-fisherman’s dream.
John McEwan, date unknown