on woodcut: a reflection

On Woodcut: A Reflection
December 2024

"To carve is to commit—every cut is final, every mark a negotiation with resistance. Woodcut is an art of decision, endurance, and consequence."

Woodcut isn’t just a technique—it’s a way of thinking. It’s about resistance, both in the physical act of carving and in the mindset it demands. Every cut is final. There’s no erasing, no undoing. The process is slow, deliberate, and built on decision-making.

A Different Kind of Mark-Making

Across cultures, artists have used different tools to record the world—brush and ink, pencil on paper, chisel on stone. Each medium shapes not only the image but the way the artist interacts with it. Woodcut stands apart in its physicality: an image is built through carving away, shaped by what is removed rather than added.

I carve instead of draw. My lines aren’t made by motion but by force, etched into resistance. My subjects aren’t imagined scenes but working bodies, urban spaces, and the weight of modern life. Woodcut, for me, isn’t about fluid gestures—it’s about engagement, endurance, and insistence.

Reworking Tradition

Every medium carries its own language. Some rely on fluidity, others on layering or depth. Woodcut is built on contrast, tension, and the stark interplay between presence and absence.
I use:

Negative space as silence, tension, or void.
Contrast to create pressure between light and shadow.
Composition as a structure of confinement and movement.

A painter may soften edges to suggest atmosphere; a sculptor may carve to reveal form. In woodcut, every shape is defined by its boundaries, every absence as intentional as what remains. My prints capture the realities of contemporary life—figures bent over desks, illuminated by the glow of screens, framed by the rigid structures of the city.

The Weight of the Process

Wood pushes back. Carving requires force. Printing is an act of insistence.
Unlike digital images, which can be reproduced infinitely, woodcut holds a record of labor. The carved block wears down with each print. The ink fills grooves made by hand. No two editions are identical. The process itself rejects disposability and instant gratification.
For me, printmaking is a statement:

Art is labor. The process is as important as the final print.
Nothing is infinite. Wood erodes, ink fades, and each edition carries its own subtle shifts.
Craft has meaning. A handmade print holds weight in a world of fleeting images.