Scottish artist Paul Furneaux has included a detailed behind-the-scenes look at his artistic process on his website. It’s so informative, we asked if we might adapt it for readers of arttexstyle. Enjoy!

approach
Coming from a painting background where the possibilities seem endless, I am more and more fascinated by the limitations imposed by woodblock printing. What excites me is the level of individuality that comes through. It is such a direct, tactile process – its range of marks and qualities are unique.
The emphasis at Tama Art University (where I studied) was on students finding their own approach to this traditional technique. This is something that has stayed with me.For example, although at times I use the traditional kento system to achieve a tight registration, I often take more flexible approaches. I also like to combine the more controlled cutting adopted by many Japanese printers, with the freer expressive style more commonly associated with woodcut in the west.
One of the materials widely used in Tama is varnish. As this repels watercolor, it can be applied to the wood as a painterly addition to the mark-making process. Often a print will come about through a combination of planning and intuitive evolution. This can result in a print being one-off, or a series of variations. These may be resolved into a ‘final’ printed edition but just as often the creative impulse has taken its course.

paper
There are many hundreds of Japanese papers (washi), handmade specifically for watercolor printing. Selection can be quite a long process. The paper usually needs to be sized though Japanese paper gets stronger as it gets older, so sometimes sizing is unnecessary.
The size itself can take a couple of days to make. Its ingredients include nikawa, a type of animal glue, and alum. These are ground, melted in water, and evenly applied with a large soft dosa brush. Once the paper is dry, I try to leave it for several days to allow the size to settle in.
The paper is moistened by layering between several dampened sheets of newsprint. These are wrapped in layers of plastic that allows the moisture to spread evenly. It takes 2 to 6 hours for the paper to dampen ready for printing.

brushes
The brushes used to apply color to woodblocks are a mixture of horse and pig or deer hair. They look like shoe brushes, as you’ll see from the photo below. If the brushes are out of shape, I leave plenty of time for re-shaping as it can take all day.
Before use, the brushes are singed with fire, or a hot plate, and rubbed on a sharkskin, or modern metal equivalent. This splits the hair ends, and softens them, so that they hold more watercolor.
paints and pigments
I normally use gouache or watercolor paints, prepared in small dishes or used directly from the tube. If I want a richer color, I use pure pigments. These are ground in a pestle and mortar and mixed with a binder, such as gum arabic or animal glue. I’ll usually also mix them with some rice paste glue on the block itself.

baren
A baren is used to rub paper onto a colored woodblock. This is a disk about the size of a saucer, usually wrapped in a bamboo leaf, that fits in the palm of the hand.A printer will have several barens to achieve different effects. These may range from inexpensive machine wrapped card, to a skillfully crafted object made over several weeks. The latter cost anything from £300 to £1000. Ball-bearing barens are also popular.
Before use, the bamboo leaf has some light oil rubbed into it. The force of printing, and possibly dampness from the paper, will eventually split the leaf unless this is done. A press can be used instead of a baren, but you lose flexibility. Extra emphasis in areas and intended baren marks can be integral to the final work.

woodblock
Building up a printed image in layers may take several woodblocks. Blocks are selected for the different properties of their wood type. I tend to use shina veneer, which is relatively easy to cut and has a smooth grain. When I need a rougher surface, the shina can be burnt slightly and rubbed to raise the grain; alternatively I use other woods.
The wood is usually cut away to create a relief image for printing. Before printing the block is soaked with water. This keeps the color on the surface of the block, rather than being sucked into the wood.

printing
Color is evenly brushed in a thin layer onto the woodblock, then left until it appears to start to dry. At this point, a sheet of the dampened paper is put in position with the aid of a registration guide. A thin piece of paper, or plastic, is placed over the paper to be printed; then carefully but quickly rubbed over with a baren. This process is repeated for each color, building up the image in layers. For a rich saturation, I apply the same color again.
The results, we would add, speak for themselves!













































Art & Identity: A Sense of Place
In our 2019 Art in the Barn exhibition, we asked artists to address the theme of identity. In doing so, several of the participants in Art + Identity: an international view, wrote eloquently about places that have informed their work. For Mary Merkel-Hess, that place is the plains of Iowa, which viewers can feel when viewing her windblown, bladed shapes. A recent work made a vivid red orange was an homage to noted author, Willa Cather’s plains’ description, “the bush that burned with fire and was not consumed,” a view that Merkel-Hess says she has seen.
The late Micheline Beauchemin traveled extensively from her native Montreal. Europe, Asia, the Middle East, all influenced her work but depictions of the St. Lawrence River were a constant thread throughout her career. The river, “has always fascinated me,” she admitted, calling it, “a source of constant wonder” (Micheline Beauchemin, les éditions de passage, 2009). “Under a lemon yellow sky, this river, leaded at certain times, is inhabited in winter, with ice wings without shadows, fragile and stubborn, on which a thousand glittering lights change their colors in an apparent immobility.” To replicate these effects, she incorporated unexpected materials like glass, aluminum and acrylic blocks that glitter and reflect light and metallic threads to translate light of frost and ice.
Mérida, Venezuela, the place they live, and can always come back to, has been a primary influence on Eduardo Portillo’s and Maria Davila’s way of thinking, life and work. Its geography and people have given them a strong sense of place. Mérida is deep in the Andes Mountains, and the artists have been exploring this countryside for years. Centuries-old switchback trails or “chains” that historically helped to divide farms and provide a mountain path for farm animals have recently provided inspiration and the theme for a body of work, entitled Within the Mountains. Nebula, the first work from this group of textiles, is owned by the Cooper Hewitt Museum.
Birgit Birkkjaer’s Ode for the Ocean is composed of many small woven boxes with items from the sea — stones, shells, fossils and so on — on their lids. ” It started as a diary-project when we moved to the sea some years ago,” she explains. “We moved from an area with woods, and as I have always used materials from the place where I live and where I travel, it was obvious I needed now to draw sea-related elements into my art work.”
“I am born and raised in the Northeast,” says Polly Barton, “trained to weave in Japan, and have lived most of my life in the American Southwest. These disparate places find connection in the woven fabric that is my art, the internal reflections of landscape.” In works like Continuum i, ii, iii, Barton uses woven ikat as her “paintbrush,” to study native Southwestern sandstone. Nature’s shifting elements etched into the stone’s layered fascia reveal the bands of time. “Likewise, in threads dyed and woven, my essence is set in stone.”
For Paul Furneaux, geographic influences are varied, including time spent in Mexico, at Norwegian fjords and then, Japan, where he studied Japanese woodblock, Mokuhanga “After a workshop in Tokyo,” he writes, “I found myself in a beautful hidden-away park that I had found when I first studied there, soft cherry blossom interspersed with brutal modern architecture. When I returned to Scotland, I had forms made for me in tulip wood that I sealed and painted white. I spaced them on the wall, trying to recapture the moment. The forms say something about the architecture of those buildings but also imbue the soft sensual beauty of the trees, the park, the blossom, the soft evening light touching the sides of the harsh glass and concrete blocks.”