UPPERCASE 67

for the CREATIVE and CURIOUS

FROM THE EDITOR’S DESK

Dear Reader,

It is often said that creativity thrives on constraints.

Boundaries can help us focus our attention and concentrate our ideas. Restricting our materials, mediums and methods can allow us to hone our technique.

The removal of excess stimuli and visual clutter can be strategic. For example, artists and designers will often restrict their palette to the bare minimum: black and white.

Contrast, shape, line and negative spaces are accentuated. The absence of colour can make art more impactful and messages more powerful. The lack of something becomes its strength.

Likewise, stencils promote creativity through absence: the holes become portals through which we make something new.

Possibility dwells in the empty spaces!

Go ahead—create something from nothing.

Janine Vangool PUBLISHER, EDITOR, DESIGNER

Behind the Scenes

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The use of stencils in art making, and black & white artwork—I mused on this issue’s two themes while creating the cover. Read more on page 56.

UPPERCASE

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Janine Vangool

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Céline Parent

COPYEDITOR

Core Contributors

Tamisha Anthony

Correy Baldwin

Andrea D’Aquino

Arianne Foulks

Joy Vanides Deneen

Brendan Harrison

Marnie Hawson

Andrea Jenkins

Kerrie More

Meera Lee Patel

Leigh Metcalf

Lydie Raschka

Lilla Rogers

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Thank you to all of the talented writers, illustrators, creative collaborators and loyal readers who contributed their talents to this issue of UPPERCASE.

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UPPERCASE welcomes everyone and all identities, ages, talents and abilities. We share an inclusive, positive and community-minded point of view. Everyone is welcome to explore our creative challenges and submit to the magazine. Pitch your own work, propose an article or suggest a topic through the Open Pitch submission form. Be familiar with the magazine and its writing and visual style.

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Magazine issues are not reprinted— get our back issues while you can!

Papel Picado: Shaped by Tradition

Yuriria Torres Alfaro, Yreina Flores, David Armando Martínez Aguilar and Kathleen Trenchard

VANIDES DENEEN

ROGERS

Stencils and Patterns: Discovering a New Way of Stencil Printing ART AND STORY BY PAULINE GREUELL

Black Ink on Paper

BIANCHI

Black & White ARTWORK BY UPPERCASE READERS

Haida Carver Melanie Russ

STORY AND PHOTOS BY CLAIRE DIBBLE

BALDWIN

BY LYDIE RASCHKA

HOBBY

Cutting to the Core: Hand-on Wisdom in the Age of Digital Tools STORY BY BRENDAN HARRISON

Norma Barsness

Stencils in

SNIPPETS

SUPPLIES

Stencil Girl

Profiled in Art Supplies, Volume A in the UPPERCASE Encyclopedia of Inspiration

BY JANE AUDAS

StencilGirl founder and owner Mary Beth Shaw, a mixed-media artist, set up her art stencil business in 2010 in response to workshop students wanting to purchase her stencil designs. Growing from just six inaugural designs, StencilGirl now offers over 2,000 to choose from, representing the designs of over 100 internationally known artists.

As Mary Beth says: “We view part of our role as discovering every way a stencil might be used.” Stencils are incredibly versatile tools: “An artist can use the full stencil or just a part of the stencil. They can flip them over to create mirror effects and cut them apart to create an entirely new tool. They can be used with paint, ink, pastels, texture pastes and encaustic paint on a wide variety of surfaces, including paper, wood, walls, fabric, glass and ceramic.” StencilGirl sells stencils of nearly everything, from letters, words and numbers, to circles of every persuasion, to bestsellers like puddles, faces in the crowd and a “love collage.” These are tools that might help with artist’s block or simply give you a starting point for some creative fun, messing about with your art supplies.

stencilgirlproducts.com

@stencilgirl_products

Art Supplies is available through UPPERCASE.

ACCESSORIES

STENCILLED CLUTCHES

STENCILMANIA

Drawing with Knives

“Stencilmania struck me about five years ago,” says Toronto-based artist Sharon VanderKaay. “I’ve now created an enormous stack of custom-designed stencils. Every stationary object in my home has become a candidate for stencilling. I’m captivated by the range of uneven, layered, hand-printed effects I’ve been able to produce.”

Her stencil infatuation has made its way to apparel, too. “Does the world need another T-shirt?” she asks. “Probably not. But I was eager to display my newfound skill: drawing with knives to make stencilled art I could wear out on the street. This freeform stencil series was hand-cut from card stock. Rather than invest in special textile inks, I mixed regular acrylic paint with fabric medium. These shirts have retained their vibrancy through multiple machine washings.” vanderpalette.com @svkaay

STREET ART

Stencil Archive

Russell Howze selfproclaims it as “your old-school website for all things stencils.”

The Stencil Archive has been online since 2002 documenting stencilled street art around the world. Russell also offers stencil street art tours of San Francisco.

stencilarchive.org @stencil_archive

Martice Smith of Kansas City, Missouri, handmakes one-of-akind clutches. “They’re inspired by my Cherokee heritage, where storytelling meets bold colour and texture,” she says. “Each collection begins with hand-drawn stencils— thunderbirds, florals, abstract patterns and contemporary basket weaving—layered in unexpected ways to spark curiosity.” Using acrylics, ink markers and spray paint on 100% organic cotton, the designs are vibrant and imaginative. “A visual mapping tool helps me isolate the strongest compositions before cutting and precisely sewing each clutch with care.”

marticesmithart.com @marticesmithart

TOOL

Stencil 360°

Place these stencils by Sunbird Spark in their 360-degree tool to rotate and reposition the designs to create intricate wreath-like patterns for handmade cards and scrapbooking projects.

sunbirdspark.com @sunbird_spark

creative inventory going back to the basics

ARTICLE AND ILLUSTRATION BY

MEERA LEE PATEL

Acreative life is full of stops and starts. Projects begin, are put on hold and are sometimes forgotten. A completed painting that didn’t quite work out becomes a blueprint for another. On the way to writing a novel, a series of poems are written. A cardboard box becomes a holiday garland; the baby grows older, but a basket full of cozy scraps remains, never having grown into a quilt.

Every few months, a sense of disappointment overshadows the excitement I usually feel about my work. Dread creeps up when I consider revising my manuscript or beginning a new illustration. There’s an air of uncertainty that clouds my vision: Things aren’t going the way I expected them to, and I’m not sure what to do next. It isn’t that I’m afraid of hard work or don’t desire to grow as an artist. It’s that I’ve become disconnected from my creative process, more eager, instead, to iron the frequent ups and downs into a smooth, straight line. My expectations of what a creative life should look like erodes the joy that living one honestly, full of mistakes and messes—provides.

This pattern occurs seasonally, like clockwork. Now that I’m able to recognize its arrival, I’ve begun taking inventory of my life and my work at the beginning of each quarter. In my journal, Learn to Let Go: A Journal for New Beginnings, I explain how a combination of personal reflection, a belief in my own infinity and the practice of letting go helps me become unstuck. When I enter a state of personal or creative discontent, I work through exercises that help me recalibrate my mind to a setting that is tuned to the values I aim to live and work by. I call this work “creative inventory,” and the core of this practice involves going back to the basics: identifying my personal values, evaluating the tools I use and letting go of the rest.

Identifying my internal values

Those who are familiar with my work will recognize that I consider my internal values regularly. These are the foundational values that I choose to live my life by, which guide my work and determine the language I use with myself and others. Honesty, integrity and friendship are three of my core values; when faced with uncertainty or tough decisions, I use them as a compass to point me in the right direction. When I feel grounded in my values, I choose my actions confidently: I recognize that despite the obstacles I face at any given moment, my efforts will, eventually, lead me somewhere. Moments of insecurity often occur because I’ve lost sight of my internal values and allowed external values—a desire to be recognized by others, for example—to take the driver’s seat instead.

Milan Kundera, an author I’ve long admired, once wrote that “love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost.” To me, this sentiment is comforting: that what I seek, no matter how large or out of reach it seems—is already inside me. To reconnect with myself and my values, I question when I feel most like myself. Which people set me at ease, requiring only that I’m most authentically myself when with them? Which actions and practices help me feel at home with myself? What traits does my true self speak with? When I am most myself, how do I see myself?

Answering these questions not only solidifies who I am and who I wish to be but also helps me reimagine what purpose my art serves. Is the purpose of my art to help teach and support others? Is the purpose of my art to process my life, emotions and experiences? Is the purpose of my art to help create systemic changes within my community? Feeling certain of my why comforts me through failures, both personal and creative. Though an experience may not turn out the way I’d hoped, I take comfort in knowing the integrity behind my actions remains intact.

Meera Lee Patel

Meera Lee Patel is a self-taught artist, writer and internationally recognized bestselling author who writes books that help people connect with themselves, each other and the world around them. Her work advocates for greater mental health awareness in children and the grown-ups who care for them. meeralee.com @meeraleepatel

fresh talent

Neha Gupte

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

I am Neha Gupte, an artist, illustrator and surface pattern designer based in Sydney, Australia, though my creative journey began in Mumbai, India. My artistic practice is deeply rooted in nature, drawing inspiration from the botanical world that surrounds me.

After moving to Australia, I discovered my passion for prints and patterns, which led me to specialize in surface pattern design. Working with watercolours, ink, pens, gouache and colour pencils, I create intricate botanical patterns and expressive artworks that reflect the delicate balance between nature and human experience. My creative process often begins with walks through my neighbourhood or visits to botanical gardens, where I photograph elements that spark inspiration.

For me, art serves as a sanctuary—a quiet space for emotional expression and a way to reconnect with my inner child. Through my creations, I aim to reach kindred spirits who appreciate the slow life, value artistic expression and see nature and art as a source of healing and reflection.

theblckpen.com @theblckpen

I have a professional background in graphic design, but my heart was always in illustration. My work blends detailed stippling techniques with my love for nature, especially marine life. I started out with black and white stippling, creating animal portraits, and it has evolved into colourful, layered patterns and illustrations using digital tools, paint and more. As a new mum, I focus more on creating my work digitally so I can continue to create around a busy home life. I hope to one day licence my artwork to stationery brands. kelsey-emblow.com @kelseyemblowillustration

FINE PRINT

PRINTING WITH STENCILS: THEN AND NOW

RECOMMENDED READING BY JANINE VANGOOL

Fashion and the Art of Pochoir: The Golden Age of Illustration in Paris

BY APRIL CALAHAN AND CASSIDY ZACHARY

This large hardcover from Thames & Hudson (2015) celebrates pochoir (the French word for “stencil”) specifically in fashion illustration. Here, pochoir is adapted for a rare method of commercial printing embraced by fashion publishers of the early 20th century.

Hand-stencilled coloured layers illuminated drawings of contemporary dress from 1908 through 1925. Colour was built up through watercolour and gouache applied by hand through stencils, either delicately tinting an image or creating swaths of flat colour. It was a laborious and expensive process—particular traits valued by elite fashion customers willing to invest in such oeuvres of fashion and status.

This book examines publications of this era, focussing on the artists and designers, and not much about the printmaking technique. The book gives generous space to the hundreds of illustrations reproduced within, but since it is printed with modern offset lithography, the nuanced charm of the pochoir method is somewhat diminished.

thamesandhudson.com

Screenprints: A History

BY GILL SAUNDERS

“The origins of silkscreening reside in stencilling, a means of making repeat marks on paper and cloth that has an extensive history,” writes author Gill Saunders, an honorary senior research fellow in the art and design department at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London.

The book, published by Thames & Hudson (2025) takes a fine art perspective, starting by chronicling the origins of screen printing and pochoir as used in artists’ books (like Henri Matisse’s Jazz, see our Abecedary on page 54). Screen printing was later embraced by artists such as Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein in creating their pop art. The medium was taken “from the studio to the street” by artists such as Sister Corita Kent, who embraced politics and protest in their art. Other topics include the intersection of photography and printmaking, installation art and more recent screen-printed art from the 1990s onward.

thamesandhudson.com

Printed in four-colour riso, this 24-page booklet published by Design For Today is an illustrative, working example of risography, a colour printing method that is a sort of digital screen printing housed in what looks like an office copier. Riso prints are often vivid, with overlays of cyan, magenta and yellow creating secondary colours.

The author explains, “The Risograph uses thermal tech to create a paper stencil of your artwork and wraps it around the ink drum. This stencil is called a Master. The paper is then fed through at high speed as the ink drum rotates, pushing ink through the stencil, creating a print of your artwork.”

The riso process is often favoured by artists, illustrators and small, indie zine publishers as an accessible yet still open-to-experiments method of printing multiples. Hello! Riso! is a fun start-up guide for those intrigued by the risography process.

designfortoday.co.uk

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a library of ideas

Rachel Crawford

LOUISIANA, USA

Describe your creative endeavour, project or career.

In 2010, I purchased a 300-page sketchbook and started the practice of making one sketch per day. Every evening, I would draw something in this sketchbook. I’d spend 10 minutes up to an hour.

What was the original spark of inspiration, circumstance or other impetus that led you to start this project?

I started this practice because we had just moved to a new town and I was creatively starved and missing the creative community I had left behind. Drawing in the sketchbook every evening started to refill my creative tank. I looked forward to my “sketchbook dates” in the evenings.

Where and when are you in this creative project?

Over the years, so many of the sketches have turned into finished works of art. These days, I work in my sketchbook weekly more than daily and spend more time bringing the sketches to completion. Now when I need an idea, I turn to these sketchbooks for inspiration. It’s my personal library of ideas.

What advice do you have for other beginners?

I prefer to work with pen or other non-erasable media because it helps build confidence. Not being able to erase makes you problemsolve and work with what’s on the paper. I recommend a daily or weekly sketchbook practice to everyone so you can build your own personal library of ideas.

rachelcrawfordart.com @rachelcrawfordart

typeface choices

seeing THROUGH making MARKS

100% of Little U sales are donated to UNICEF.

$50,000 has been raised since 2018.

Little U, the offspring of UPPERCASE magazine, is an occasional magazine/book for the young at heart. (Think of it as a smaller and cuter version of UPPERCASE!) With childlike wonder, Little U explores making, designing, illustrating and living. Highlighting children’s books, surface pattern design, clothing and product design for young folk, and arts and crafts inspired by and/or made for children, this publication inspires and informs professional creatives and families alike. littleumag.com

Using our creativity for good is one of the best ways we can make a difference. Through design, art and craft—and with our hands and hearts—we can effect change. However small it may seem at first, each incremental effort is still significant. Share your Make It Worthwhile projects to be featured in the magazine or the UPPERCASE newsletter.

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pochoir prints

PRINTING BY STENCILLED LAYERS OF COLOUR

The final process could require a staggering number of stencilled pieces, with accounts ranging from 40 to 120, depending on the complexity of the piece.

The pochoir process, while time-consuming and laborious, produced aesthetic results that cannot be denied. The stencils were carefully blotted with colour, typically watercolour or gouache, using a shortbristled brush called a “pompon.” As each pompon could be used for only one colour at a time, pochoir studios could have hundreds of brushes on hand in their workshops. To achieve the final reproduction, coloured stencils would be laid successively on each other, essentially building the print detail by detail from the ground up. The handmade nature of the pochoir process, with its meticulous attention to detail, was a testament to the dedication and skill of the creators and artisans involved.

In addition to the commercial and artistic community, the world of French high fashion especially adopted the use of pochoir to create high-quality representations of their pieces and highlight the trends and changing styles of the era. A major player in the adoption of this

method was the couturier Paul Poiret, well known for his avant-garde designs, which pulled heavily from neoclassicism and Eastern aesthetics, who commissioned a set of pochoir illustrations from the artist Paul Iribe. Released in 1908, Les Robes de Paul Poiret became the first fashion catalogue of its kind to feature pochoir plates. Even at the time, this work and subsequent publications like it became collector’s pieces, due to their handmade nature and the limited editions produced.

Pochoir as a process was honed over the early decades of the 20th century before blossoming into a fully developed art form in the 1920s, mainly because of the patronage of the fashion industry, with its epicentre in Paris. The height of pochoir lasted from 1925 to 1930, an incredibly short period. Due to the rapid rise of consumerism and clamour for luxury goods, some of the most exceptional pieces of pochoir artistry were created during this time. Many of these were featured in the publication Gazette du Bon Ton, a revolutionary illustrated fashion magazine focusing on the most current trends in style, beauty and the lifestyles of the

affluent. A who’s who of prominent couturiers of the era, such as Paquin, Worth, Beer, Patou and Lanvin, collaborated closely with the likes of George Barbier, George Lepape and Pierre Brissaud, some of the best illustrators of the time, to create the unforgettable pochoir creations found in the publication.

The spirit of the era profoundly influenced pochoir prints of this time. Illustrations heavily focused on female subjects, not only because of women’s relationship to the fashionable dress and the fashion industry at large, but also as a reaction to the wide-sweeping political changes the Western world was undergoing at the time. Women’s liberation and voting enfranchisement were slowly becoming mainstream, with more and more women participating in the political and social spheres, while simultaneously making a living for themselves for the first time. Although the images found in pochoir often centre on women of wealth, status and privilege, the focus on the growing power women were experiencing pervades the pieces. Women stand alone, confident and bold, occupying the whole page. When men are depicted, it is usually in fragments or as supporting players, secondary to the women in the frame. Often, the men featured in pochoir pieces are simply foils for the females, presented as frail, feminine and non-threatening. In contrast, the women tend to assume a domineering, almost predatory energy.

Women were also an integral part of the robust pochoir industry of the time, which was responsible for the employment of a large workforce. Pochoir ateliers in France employed around 600 artisans spread over 30 dedicated workshops. In addition to the découpeur who cut out the stencils with sharp-edged knives, many women also found employment as coloristes, applying paint to each cut piece. These workers toiled assembly line style and were paid by the sheet, working both day and night to complete by hand the thousands of pieces required. During the height of pochoir production, when demand was still high, these workshops provided steady employment and reliable wages to their workers until the point where the bottom dropped out of the market.

Unfortunately, the destruction of the pochoir industry was baked into the process that made it so alluring and respected as an art. Because the production could not be automated and required a large workforce to handcut, paint and process each piece, pochoir was not only time-consuming but also unnecessarily expensive. The audiences that had enthusiastically embraced and supported the art during the 1920s became smaller and smaller throughout the 1930s, with the start of World War II putting the final nail in pochoir’s handwrought and elegant coffin. Still, the art form continues to this day, with independent artists still adopting and experimenting with the process. Although the heyday of pochoir in all of its excessive and luxurious glory is not likely to return, today we are still lucky enough to view and appreciate these vast and varied masterworks produced during the early decades of the 20th century.

theboxsf.com @theboxsfmercantile

Sometimes it’s in the boldest contrasts that we find the deepest beauty.

finding clarity in contrast

STORY AND PHOTOS BY MARNIE HAWSON

In a world that often feels overwhelmingly complex, there’s power in simplicity. When we think about sustainability, it’s easy to get caught in the grey areas—compromises, partial solutions or incremental changes. But sometimes, the most impactful shifts happen when we choose to see things in black and white.

Contrast can be a powerful tool. In design, bold black and white imagery commands attention. In nature, contrast signals diversity—the sharp line of a shadow in a forest, the markings of a butterfly’s wing or the black and white plumage of a magpie. And in sustainability, contrast helps us make sense of the stark choices we face.

We’re either protecting ecosystems or destroying them. We’re building with regenerative intent or continuing extractive patterns. There’s no middle ground that works in the long-term. The planet doesn’t operate in half measures.

Stencil art—with its crisp lines and clear shapes— reflects this same clarity. It’s a medium often used in activism, where quick, repeatable and bold messages matter. From guerrilla gardening to anti-logging campaigns, stencils give form to protest. They don’t mince words. They state: This is wrong, and this is what change looks like.

Yuriria Torres Alfaro Papel Picado Xochimilco MEXICO CITY,

MEXICO

Papel Picado Xochimilco is a labour of love and a story of family legacy passed from father to daughter. The studio began 37 years ago when Alberto Torres y Cordero retired from teaching elementary school. Always curious and never one to sit idle, Don Alberto had done papel picado as a hobby; upon retirement, he started teaching origami workshops. Wanting to expand his business, he met with the Bureau of Culture and offered them his origami work, but it was quickly rejected as being detached from Mexican culture. On the spot, Don Alberto impulsively offered his (then virtually nonexistent) papel picado work instead.

“He was that fearless,” says his daughter Yuriria with a laugh, as at the time his production was only at a hobby level. But being of a gregarious nature, he had a rapport with many artisans who helped him undertake a massive project. With the support of his wife, four of his children (including Yuriria), and many of his artisan friends and neighbours, Don Alberto was able to manufacture the decorations for the first of many large civic events.

When Don Alberto began his papel picado business, the craft was primarily known as a small-town decoration, but it soon grew to become popular in large civic and cultural events in Mexico City. Tapping into the human need to celebrate and adorn festivities, papel picado has become a subject of growing fascination—and often cheap imitation. “Especially after the Coco movie in 2017,” explains Yuriria, “we saw a surge in popularity for our craft.”

With Don Alberto’s passing, his daughter Yuriria took charge of the growing business and is now the only family member continuing her father’s legacy. “I loved it so much that I said, ‘I want to do this forever,’” she says with a laugh and a sparkle in her eyes.

Today, with Yuriria at the helm, the company has grown to 18 people, and while some of their tools have changed, they still operate using the traditional method of chisel and hammer to execute whimsical creations for celebrations across Mexico and internationally.

“For me,” says Yuriria, “the most rewarding part is seeing the finished product and knowing that it was a result of teamwork.”

@papelpicadoxochimilco

PHOTOGRAPHY BY TONA NOLASCO @TONA.NOLASCO

PAPEL PICADO (BLACK BACKGROUNDS)

COURTESY OF MUSEO DE ARTE POPULAR @MAP_MEXICO

Yreina Flores Ay Mujer!

INDIO, CALIFORNIA, USA

Yreina Flores comes from a background in film photography, a career that was affected by the 2008 recession and the downturn in film photography. Upon graduation from art school and facing an uncertain future in photography, Yreina remembered an old school project: a book called Leyendas de mi Familia, a collection of family folk tales that she had illustrated using paper cuttings. That was her first connection to papel picado and when the time came to pivot her career, that project ignited a spark. In a way, knowing that papel picado has been around for centuries, across many cultures, gave Yreina some security. “It was like a safety net for me,” she recalls. “I was going to have time to explore this medium; it was not going to change on me like photography did.” And she decided to go for it.

Armed with an eye for design from her photography days and lettering skills from her stint as art director at a sign company, Yreina launched her new venture. She remembers making the announcement to her family around the dinner table—like many other important discussions in her household—and being met with a dismissive “¡Ay, mujer! Ok, whatever.” So, as a nod to those family discussions around the table, Yreina named her business Ay, Mujer! (Oh, woman).

Today, her work has been featured in many print and online publications that praise her unique designs in traditional styles. Her work, as with many papel picado artists, has a strong understanding of negative and positive space and the use of a sturdy structure. But what sets her apart is her warm nature that has her loyal clients coming back to ask for decorations to celebrate all of life’s milestones—from weddings to baptisms to graduations, to the ultimate celebration of life on Day of the Dead altars.

Art has the power not only to strengthen our connection to our own heritage, but also to be a force for change. Yreina, who was raised to take pride in her family’s many generations of Chicano history, recently created a papel picado banner that reads “Brown Is Beautiful,” a favourite phrase of her father’s. When sharing the banner on social media she wrote, “It’s scary to be a brown person in this country. But then, I thought about what papel picado represents—the breath of life. And how we hang it to commemorate our lives, and in the ceremonies that make us, US […] I wish I could hang this message in every school, every library, everywhere. And when the gentle breath of a breeze flutters the flags, that message will whisper into the world: ‘Our existence is a blessing. And we are not going anywhere.’”

@aymujer

David Armando Martínez Aguilar Taller Sarapico

MEXICO CITY, MEXICO

For Maestro David Armando Martínez, his passion for papel picado was love at first sight. He vividly recalls when he was only six years old, walking hand in hand with his mother around the streets of Coyoacán and suddenly hearing a little flutter above his head. Looking up, he noticed lines of colourful papel picado. “Observe how the wind makes them move,” said his mother. “That’s the sound you hear.” That image and that sound were engraved in Maestro Martínez’s memory and ignited a passion for cutting paper, further fueling his curious and observant nature.

He started his artistic journey working on folk art cartonería (papier mâché) sculptures and began adding tiny pieces of papel picado just for decoration. Before long, these tiny representations of papel picado gained so much attention that they became his main line of work. His intricate pieces average 7 mm x 9 mm, and some of his pieces are as small as his pinky fingernail, half the size of a postage stamp. “I think part of my fascination with miniatures,” he explains, “is that from that moment when I first saw papel picado,

I saw it from a distance, from the height of a six-yearold, and it all looked rather small. That first time, I saw miniature pieces.”

His diminutive designs have been exhibited around Mexico and the world, growing his reputation as the only Mexican papel picado miniature artist. “It’s an honour,” he admits, “but also a serious commitment. You have to keep improving your work, always learning, always innovating.” He is recognized and awarded not only for the jaw-dropping dimensions of his work but also because he has developed and crafted his own tools, forging and modifying leather sewing needles into minuscule chisels. Maestro Martínez is not afraid to push boundaries, and in fact he welcomes the challenge, always trying to exceed his own limits, working on even smaller scales and finer cuts while maintaining nitid details as well as the principles and essence of traditional papel picado

For Maestro Martínez, through 50 years of working with and teaching about papel picado, it all comes down to his childhood: from the long walks with his mother teaching him to observe, to his grandmother Margarita always creating something or telling him stories, to the name of his studio (Sarapico, meaning “kite” in Zapotec) being a nod to his father’s love of kites. “Each piece I make has a story behind it,” he explains. “I am gathering stories and spreading my love for Mexico and its rich culture.” Affectionately called “the wind draftsman,” Maestro Martínez humbly says, “Wind transports me to see my grandmother’s hands. In my work, and in my hands, I have Margarita’s voice and hands; and that moves me.”

@sarapico_armandortes

Kathleen Trenchard

SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS, USA

New Orleans–born Kathleen Trenchard started working with papel picado in the late 1980s after moving to San Antonio, where there was a strong Mexican folk art culture. “I went into an art gallery that specializes in Mexican folk art, and they had an exhibition about Día de los Muertos,” she recalls. “I had never seen anything like that; I loved how the light was casting shadows through the papel picado. It was so intricate.”

Guided by the sense of awe and wonder that characterizes her, she dove into exploring this fascinating craft. She began by collecting papel picado works— a collection that currently includes more than 500 pieces—and subsequently writing a book about the history of the craft and simple techniques for creating small projects. Shortly after, she went to Puebla, Mexico, to learn the craft, using hammer and chisel. On a subsequent trip to Bali to study dance and music, Kathleen was further exposed to the technique of using a hammer and chisels to make shadow puppets.

With a background in painting, printmaking and dance, and a vast portfolio of portrait work and courtroom sketching in New Orleans, Kathleen was able to bridge her love for portraits with her fascination for papel picado . In her work, traditional and nontraditional forms blend beautifully in her bold and modern portraits. Her pieces masterfully balance negative and positive spaces, while capturing familiar, quotidian scenes.

Spilling the tea with silhouette artist

Moses Williams

Iam a children’s book illustrator. Woo! I still get little tingles when saying that. Even though I have been working in the profession for a few years, I still feel so unbelievably lucky. Let’s keep it real—sometimes I have to remind myself I’m lucky when struggling to get an illustration project past the “ugly phase.” Those days are so frustrating! But I know I have found my niche. I have found a career I would love to do forever. I have found a career that makes me smile.

Working as a commercial artist isn’t the easiest field to break into. Braced with tenacity and talent, a little luck still goes a long way to making art into a profession. And it takes even more dedication, desire and drive to keep the career going.

Moses Williams, an enslaved man who became a professional commercial artist, had more desire,

my now husband!** There are a lot of ways to find connection and I think Moses and I will connect through our art and dedication. So, I feel like I should keep this tea time simple. Honey, tea, Moses and me. And maybe some scones! He doesn’t seem like the sugary type, but I’ll need something to nibble on.

I would immediately dive into Moses’s life working as a commercial artist at the Peale’s Philadelphia Museum. I would be excited to tell him that I am a freelance artist too. I consider myself a “hustler” since as a full-time artist you need to do a little bit of this and that to keep your career afloat. But when he clears his throat and tells me that in his first year working at the museum as a freedman, he created around 8,000 portraits for museum visitors, my jaw drops. That’s one man, all by himself, creating at least 20 portraits a day. I marvel at his grit … hoping he will forgive the bits of grit between my teeth from that crumbly scone. I close my mouth, swallow and urge him to start from the beginning of his life. I want to understand where his determination and dedication come from.

Moses would begin by telling me he was born in 1776 into enslavement. He and his parents, Lucy and Scarborough, were traded to artist Charles Wilson Peale as a payment for two portraits he was commissioned to create. When Moses was around 10 years old, his parents became “of age” and were emancipated under the Pennsylvania’s Act for the Gradual Abolition of Slavery. Moses was required to remain with the Peales as property, separated from his parents. In Pennsylvania, as a Black person, Moses was required to provide free labour until the age of 28. He was trained as an artisan in order to be a useful enslaved worker in Peale’s Philadelphia Museum. Moses learned taxidermy and object display. He was dressed as a Native American to promote the museum’s exhibitions on the streets of Philadelphia. And he was taught how to use the physiognotrace, a machine that made silhouettes by tracing a miniature outline of the sitter. All of which, during this time, were considered “lower forms” of art.

“And while these white members of the household were given a full palette of colors with which to express themselves artistically, the slave was relegated to the mechanized blackness of the silhouette, and it effectively removed him from any significant artistic and financial competition with the others,” Gwendelyn Shaw writes.

Sometimes I take for granted how much choice I have in my career, hobbies and interests. How much freedom I have in self expression and exploring any art medium I desire. This summer, on a whim, I decided to take a ceramics class. It has been a blast! I feel like I got to meet a whole different side of myself. But Moses could not choose his trade. His trade was chosen for

him. But he was resilient. He focused on the art form he was instructed in and became a master. He worked beauty into the limitations he faced.

Once emancipated at the age of 27, Moses set up his own shop in Peale’s Philadelphia Museum as a silhouette artist. There were some people who visited the museum primarily to have their portraits created by this master. Again imagine we are living in the early 1800s. Family and friends die unexpectedly and quickly from infectious disease. There is no photography as a way to remember your loved ones. Victorian mourning jewellery and hair art from the deceased provided a tangible memorial. But it was not quite the same as recalling a loved one’s face. Moses provided a service to thousands that was truly priceless. As a professional artist, he made eight cents for each portrait he created. He wanted to start his life and that required stable finances. Eventually from his earnings, he was able to purchase a two-storey brick home and get married. There aren’t many details about his personal life. But we know he didn’t only work to produce a significant quantity but he was also a talented artist who created works of great quality.

There is still so much of Moses’s life that lies in shadow. That’s unknown. There are so many questions I want to ask him. Did he ever want to explore any other art media? Did he get a chance to experiment with oil painting or watercolour? Was he able to reconnect or rebuild the family he lost as a child? Did he have those frustrating days where everything he created was quickly discarded!? But some parts of me just wonder what he looked like when he smiled. And how often he smiled while sharing portraits he created with museum visitors. I imagine he smiled a lot. There is something about his self portrait—his beautiful posture and the way his chin tilts up just a little— that makes me feel that he had personal pride, that he was sure of his mastery and the gift he had to share with the world. It’s incredible to imagine how much light and beauty his portraits provided many families in darker moments.

tamishaanthony.com @tamisha.anthony

Discover long-out-of-print back issues of your favourite magazine!

The UPPERCASE Archive is a growing resource of out-of-print UPPERCASE magazine back issues presented as digital editions viewable on a computer or your iPad. With 50 digital back issues uploaded, there’s an incredible abundance of inspiration awaiting in this digital UPPERCASE library.

writing without language

THE CALLIGRAPHY & CERAMICS OF

Tom Kemp was 12 years old when he first saw someone writing with a quill, and he was electrified. Every day after school, he would walk to the Oxford University Museum of Natural History, where his father worked. The museum boasted displays of dinosaurs and fossils, with hand-painted backdrops. “It was a 1950s Americanalike look, and these dry, dusty specimens were brought to life by beautiful depictions of Jurassic forests.” These murals were painted by David Nicholls, an artist and calligrapher who also wrote all of the museum labels by hand. “I happened to pass him every day and he was a really nice guy. One day, I just barged into his office and he was sitting there writing a placard of some sort.” Tom was struck by what felt like a performance, watching the “incredible calligraphic shapes coming out the pen.” David gave Tom a pen, some nibs and ink, as well as a round hand alphabet exemplar to copy. “I made a total mess of it, of course. I was just feverishly, obsessively making these strokes, trying to get the letters exactly right.”

About five years later, Tom came upon David writing on a blackboard that he had rubbed with chalk. “He was dipping this big brush in water. It made this really sharp edge, and he was making these black, glossy, wet strokes on the blackboard.” Tom had become quite competent with the pen, but couldn’t figure out how to make letters dance with a life of their own. “I was trying to copy shapes but I wasn’t really copying the spirit,” he says. Watching David made him realize that perhaps he had been using the wrong tool. “The pen, for me, wasn’t

quite big enough. It wasn’t flexible enough. It wasn’t rich enough, in a way. But the brush somehow had all these qualities.” When he asked David how he could learn this style of calligraphy, David told him about the seminal book The Origin of the Serif by Father Edward Catich, which delved into Roman inscription letters on Trajan’s column and detailed how the brush shaped this alphabet. “You can’t get copies anywhere,” David said. “They’re as rare as hen’s teeth.” But he pointed young Tom in the direction of the British Library, where he spent every day for two weeks, absorbing all that he could. He admits he was very naughty, taking photocopies of the last few pages on clear acetate sheets. The original Roman inscriptions were about six inches high, perfect for Tom’s half-inch flat brush. He practised the letters at home, placing the acetate sheet on top to check his work and then making adjustments accordingly.

Tom continued his self-directed calligraphy practice while in university, where he ultimately earned a PhD in theoretical computer science (a branch of mathematics). Tom’s studies helped him think rationally and critically, especially about language and writing, which is an integral part of computer science. “You think about codes and sending messages,” he says. “What does it mean for something to have meaning?” When looking at writing as an academic subject, Tom saw that it was “almost always from a linguistic point of view, literally the tongue and speech. To this day, we make a lot of marks that are not about talking or even about language, but they are still meaningful.” He notes that calligraphers are in a unique position, with

vertical.” He found the act of throwing to be like threedimensional calligraphy; a performance happening in real time. “It all happens in the moment,” Tom says. “The moments pass and whatever you did is gone, [but] there’s evidence of it.” He remarks that “just letting the form be what it became … felt like the calligraphic principle I’d been pursuing for so long.”

As his ceramics journey continued, Tom was certain that he could use his calligraphic training to write on his pots. Unlike with a two-dimensional piece of paper, he could not see the entire surface of his pots at once. “You start [writing] somewhere, you turn it around, and you can’t see where you started, which is a mind twister.” He learned that he had to rely on both memory, and the feeling in his body. He first explored writing around the vessel with small marks and strokes. “I avoid measurements whenever possible so I don’t make guides or points of reference. Each mark tells me where the next one needs to go.”

Eventually, the single brush stroke began to emerge. Tom had done a number of calligraphic works using

a single brush stroke but was intrigued by the idea of writing on a curved surface with a flat brush. “You can use a lot more pressure techniques with a brush on a curved surface than you can on a flat surface.” At the same time, he had to learn how to contend with the porosity of the porcelain, which sucks the brush to the surface. “The friction is horrendously difficult to manipulate, unless you just leave it alone, don’t watch it and let your feelings take care of all of that complexity. Then it works.”

Tom has well documented these single brush strokes through videos on social media, letting us first see the large, pristine vessel. A bare pot is much like a blank piece of paper, except it took weeks to form, trim and fire. Before making a mark, he has to prepare mentally and physically. “There is a certain process of calming down, knowing that everything’s going to be fine. There are two states of mind, actually. One is observant and receptive, and the other one is focused and almost unconscious.” He likens it to how a sprinter prepares, noting how many active decisions are made in a short 10-second ritual. As Tom stands in front of a vessel, he feels “a high activity of concentration, energy and breathing.” He knows he can’t begin if he’s too amped up or if his body is tense. He waits for the moment when “there’s a brief lull in the intensity of [my] thoughts.” That’s when he closes his eyes and lets go.

When he strikes, it’s with a strong, deliberate movement that creates a spray of glaze on the wall or ground. He works his way around the vessel, firmly manipulating the pressure of the flexible bristles, creating an often undulating mark. “These strokes are made swiftly and contain a huge amount of information about the way my body works during these few seconds,” Tom explains. The somatic, fullbody aspect of this type of calligraphic performance is key. “I’m very aware of my back. I use my whole arm, so it’s no longer just [my] fingertips and wrist.” Tom also notes there is a mindful, meditative aspect of his practice. He focuses on a single action, that “at that moment, it’s the most important thing, the most enjoyable thing, the most meaningful thing. And all you’re going to do for the next few seconds is this work, this performance.”

After the final firing, the colour of the marks emerge, showcasing a rich contrast of dark and light. Tom’s ceramic work is notably monochrome, which he says stems back from “those very first days of learning to write, with the pen that David gave me. I think part of my brain is now a blank sheet of paper with black marks on it. That's just how I see the world, really.”

tomkemp.com

@tomkemp

Stencils

y three-year-old has been enthusiastically learning to write letters. We gave him a set of block letters to trace around, but he has yet to try a stencil. So, using cardboard from a cereal box, I make one for him. It is a capital A with two breaks in it: one at the top, and another at the crossbar in the middle. I’m curious what he will make of it.

He leaps to the task, tracing out the letter in crayon, then lifts the cardboard stencil. He regards his wobbly red “A” for only a moment before adding in two more lines, one at each break, to connect the different sections.

“Nice!” I say. Then I point and ask him: “Hey, why did you add those lines?”

“Because it was not attached.”

“Why should it be attached?” I ask.

“Just because.” So there you have it: letterform aesthetics from the mouth of a toddler.

The widespread use of stencils has depended on this very concept: our acceptance of letterforms that are not perfect, that are displayed as seemingly only partially complete. After all, if each of us carried crayons in our pockets, compelled to fill in the gaps on every packing crate or industrial signage we came across, the stencil simply would not exist.

This desire for a unified letterform played a role in some of the earliest stencils: If you look closely at stencilled letters in France and Germany from the 16th to the 18th century, when Western stencils first appeared, you can see where the bridges (or gaps) were filled in afterwards, hiding all evidence of the stencil itself.

At the time, penmanship was rooted in certain ideals of perfection: letters were complete, consistent, whole. It was only once stencilling became more commonplace—as an activity done by regular folks and, especially, when taken up for commerce and industry—that the idiosyncratic form of the stencilled letter became acceptable—even something to be emphasized.

Stencilling is, simply put, an economical method for creating a repeatable image using a template, out of which the outline of that image has been cut. It is a type of image-making and mark-making that is so

As soon as I cut my first stencil I could feel the power there. … All graffiti is low-level dissent, but stencils have an extra history. They’ve been used to start revolutions and to stop wars.

—BANKSY (STREET ARTIST)

Ancient Origins

Stencilling is such an elemental form of mark-making that it has been used in various forms across millennia and around the world. One of the earliest examples comes from Fiji, in the South Pacific, where people decorated bark cloth using stencils made from bamboo and banana leaves. Inuit from what is now the Canadian Arctic created stencils from dried sealskin. Stencils were also used in Ancient Egypt, Ancient Greece and Mesopotamia, where parchment and papyrus stencils were used to decorate pottery, textiles and leather, as well as the walls of temples and tombs. Artists in Ancient China and Japan made intricate stencils out of mulberry-fibre paper to decorate textiles and pottery, and to create patterns for embroidery. The art of stencilling (and paper-cutting) spread westward along various trade routes, arriving in Europe during the medieval period.

Screen Printing

Screen printing is essentially a printing technique using stencils. In screen printing, a stencil is placed on a mesh screen, and an ink or dye is transferred past the stencil and onto a printing surface.

Itinerant Wallpaper

Stencillers

From the mid-1700s to the mid-1800s, travelling stencillers moved throughout colonial New England, printing wallpaper from home to home—and carrying with them their packs of stencils, pigments and brushes. Among these was Moses Eaton Jr. who learned the trade from his father, and whose designs have come to be recognized as important examples of American folk art.

Theorem Painting

In the early 1800s there was a trend in England, and then New England, in creating detailed artistic paintings on velvet using multiple stencils—often stylized still lifes of fruits or flowers. Most theorem painters neglected to sign their works, with the artist Emma Jane Cady being a prominent exception.

old that prehistoric examples can be found on cave walls—often of the outline of hands—from Indonesia to Argentina to Spain.

Despite the prevalence of stencilled letters, a stencil can be anything: a word, a decorative element, even a picture. Templates have traditionally been made of wood, or from metals like copper, brass or zinc, but in fact can be made of any material, including oil board (treated wood), plastics and cardboard—the more durable the better. The image itself can be painted with a brush, spray-painted, inked or traced out, depending on the purpose, whether utilitarian or artistic. And their uses are widespread: They are found on crates marked for shipping and on pavement; for marking turning lanes, bike lanes and crosswalks; and they are used for everything from street art to home crafts. However you look at it, stencils are simple, efficient and democratic: Anyone can use them.

This wasn’t always the case. In its earliest uses, stencilling was a specialized process done exclusively by engravers and others trained in various forms of printing and illustration. Stencils first appeared in Europe in the 16th century, combined with woodblock prints and painting in the creation of illustrations for religious manuscripts. Around the same time, stencils were being used to create wallpaper prints, in the form of paper segments called “dominoes”—a substitute for the much more expensive cloth wall coverings of the day. Curiously, stencils also found their way onto the backs of playing cards.

Then, in the 17th century, the first stencilled letters appeared, with bookmakers in France and Germany using stencils to create text for large liturgical books and prayer books used by the clergy in the Catholic church. (Letter stencil templates often included a small hole, a dot indicating where the next stencilled letter should begin, to aid in alignment.) Meanwhile, stencils continued to be used for book illustration, often for colouring black and white prints. In France, this artistic practice became known as “pochoir,” a form that eventually reached its peak in the 1900s, with art nouveau and art deco design.

Around the 19th century, however, a shift occurred: The stencil was becoming more commonplace, and was finding its way to more common, everyday uses. Stencils were being used to create nameplates, bookplates and stencilled signatures, as well as pharmaceutical labels, billhead receipts and visiting cards. They were used to create posters, notices and advertisements, and to mark furniture and other household items, to announce ownership or manufacturer. They were also used to aid in embroidering decorative elements and monograms onto textile objects like handkerchiefs, pillowcases and table coverings.

STORY BY JANINE VANGOOL

making the cover

PLAYING WITH STENCILS

My collection of letter stencils began in high school with a bluegrey plastic template of the alphabet. I carried it around in my geometry tin alongside my protractor and compass. Other than perhaps stencilling a neat book report cover or personalizing a duotang folder, I’m not sure why this template merited keeping it with me at all times. Looking back, I can see it was my early fondness for letterforms and controlling the look of a page (even if it was only a grade eleven book report) that led me to a career in graphic design.

When I took it upon myself to create the cover for this issue, I gathered all my letter stencils: an antique serif face cut from thin, flexible zinc; a dollar store find of simple letters die cut from a yellow cardstock; and another plastic template of a utilitarian sans serif. The challenge was to create cover art, literally beginning from a blank page. With an inkling of an idea—to explore making something out of nothing—I started stencilling words.

Dabbing black, sticky ink through empty spaces, I experimented with words and phrases. Eventually, my graphic design and editor tendencies took over and I cut and pasted, edited and arranged the day’s efforts. Having started from nothing, a few hours later, I had indeed created something in collaboration with the empty spaces.

STENCILS IN CRAFT, ART & DESIGN

The Hero and the Glue

Kathryn Lissack

VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA

Stencils are magical to me because they can distill communication down to the basic essentials. I find this impressive since I’m more of a maximalist. In my textured collages, stencils sometimes play the heroes, and sometimes they are the glue. I push poly-fill through hard plastic stencils, distress and manipulate paint within stencil shapes and incorporate repetitive pattern stencils to unite disparate collage elements. Occasionally, I make my own stencils. Simply put, stencils add a graphic accent that resonates with my aesthetic. And I love them.

kathrynlissack.com

@kathrynlissack

Letters and Numbers Love

Amy Duncan

EVERETT, WASHINGTON, USA

I have a love of letters and numbers—something about the graphic nature of them and how unending combinations can communicate whatever you desire. Photographing my collection of vintage metal stencils offers me possibilities of how they could be used in my work. Not only have I employed the initial digital image in my creations, but printing the image onto wallpaper also meant I could incorporate it as the background in a mixedmedia assemblage. Printing it onto fabric meant that I could apply that image onto any soft material project on which I was working. Utilizing one image in several applications and different compositions has strengthened the identity of my recognizable style.

studiofourcorners.com

@studiofourcorners

Pochoir Printmaking

Sirina Ruby

I really wanted to try printmaking, but didn’t have the supplies, which is how I got into pochoir. I start with a sketch, figure out the palette, separate colours then cut stencils for each layer of paint that will be “tapped” in. The smaller pieces shown below are originals, created entirely by hand with stencils and gouache. For the sunset illustration, the whole scene was made with a “stencil” of cut and torn masking tape, and just the sun and pink colour were added digitally. The crow is another example where the purple background and patterned border were done by hand with my own stencils, and the rest was done digitally. Even when working digitally, I actually create in the same, layered way that I do by hand, which helps retain some of that handmade feel that I love so much.

sirinaruby.etsy.com

@sirinaruby

Wonky Leaves

Nicole Watson AUSTIN, TEXAS, USA

For this art journal page, I used stencils that I designed for the background and my focal point. The background number stencils are layered on top of ephemera using a foam applicator and acrylic ink. The leaf focal point stencils not only utilize the stencil but also the mask (the inside part cut from the stencil). I used acrylic paint inside the stencil and around the mask to create the different leaves. I like to further distress and grunge my stencilling to make it my own.

@nicolewatsonart

Playful Shapes

Elena Tsaprounis

KAVALA, GREECE

In my illustration and sketchbook practice, I use stencils to create texture, layers and playful shapes and characters. I design my own stencils and combine them with hand-drawn elements, mostly with colour pencils. This technique allows me to add atmosphere to the composition. The contrast between the sharp stencil edges and the free illustration lines brings energy and depth to the artwork.

@elena_tsaprounisillustration

Stencil Delicata

Susan Airris Berry

WEST LEBANON, NEW HAMPSHIRE, USA

Using stencils creates an opportunity for chance. This image, entitled “Woodlands,” was part of an experiment in stencilling while using an intaglio press. It has many layers of scraps laid over an inked plate to create very unexpected results. In other works, I’ve used punched scrap as a stencil from the studio floor, elastics and ballet tulle as stencils.

susanberryART.com @susanberryART

Mars

Clémentine Achat

TRÉVOUX, FRANCE

I am working with felt pens and masking tape that I use to hide some parts of my drawing. When I take this off, typography or forms appear. It’s like a surprise for me and for the one who is watching my process. I love the contrast between the whiteness of the paper and the lush floral pattern.

clemzillu.com @clemzillu

Nature Stencils

Lori Siebert

COVINGTON, KENTUCKY, USA

Foraging in nature for gorgeous leaves and flowers is one of my favourite adventures. Wandering through wooded paths wherever my travels take me, I’m always on the lookout for a shape, texture or silhouette that sparks inspiration. I collect delicate specimens— ferns, wildflowers, unusual leaves—and take them back to my studio where they become beautiful stencils and unique printing tools. lorisiebert.com @lorisiebert.studio

Healing Florals

Ingrid Youmans

STILLWATER, MINNESOTA, USA

During the summer of 2023, I spent several months healing at home from a major brain surgery. When I felt well enough to make art again, I found solace in the creation of this art collection. I first drew whatever shapes and patterns came to mind with paint markers, and then I created floral stencils from basic thin cardboard scraps. I then stencilled over the remaining portions of the piece using acrylic paint. The works are joyful and representative of a time when my only job was to rest and heal.

studioingridann.com

@studio_ingrid_ann

printing with masking tape

Readers’ black & white artwork, projects and designs, where the lack of colour is a specific design feature.

Inked Leaves and Vintage Glamour

Tracy Bunnell Fox

MORRISTOWN, NEW JERSEY, USA

I am a collector, observer and memory keeper. My work celebrates finding calm in the chaos of life. Photography is a pivotal part of my art-making process. It allows me to focus on shape and texture, as I attempt to capture the elusive play of lights and darks in shadows that are ever changing. A series of black/white organic observations took shape during a 30-day challenge I gave myself to explore my catalogue of twigs, branches and seed pods. These daily drawing explorations inspired larger more complex pieces. The white marks define the negative space, and in the process these marks create the black positive forms. Some images are created with white pen on black paper and some are created digitally in the same way using a drawing app on my iPad.

memoryvessel.com

@memoryvessel

Black and White Butterflies

Heather Anderson

VICTORIA, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA

These Mormon, zebra longwing and tree nymph butterflies are naturally black and white, and certainly don’t need any additional colours to show off their striking shapes, markings and textures. I drew these particular butterflies to create a surface pattern design.

@heatherandersondesigns

Blanc sur Noir

Ann-Margret Hovsepian

MONTREAL, QUEBEC, CANADA

As a colouring book illustrator, most of my artwork is black on white, but one day I decided to play with a white gel pen on black paper and I was thrilled with the result. I realized later that I could simply scan a black-on-white drawing and invert the colours, but there was something meditative about drawing slowly with a gel pen and, at the same time, exciting about watching something outof-my-ordinary emerge.

annhovsepian.com

@buttercupdesignstudio

The Witch’s Garden

Gaia Azzaroli

FLORENCE, ITALY

These illustrations are straight from my sketchbook. As an exercise to get back into drawing daily, in 2024, I challenged myself to stick to a single theme and a single medium every 15 days. This is how I discovered that, as much as I like experimenting, I always go back to dip pen and ink as my medium of choice. It makes sense, since I trained for three years as a comic book artist, and was a tattooer for nine years, working strictly in black and white. These drawings are from the 15-day series revolving around plants related to witchcraft, and it was while working on these that I realized that black ink is my “comfort zone.” picadominus.com @picadominus

A Moment of Calm Debra Styer

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, USA

One of my biggest passions is painting portraits inspired by history. Surprisingly, I have never painted one strictly in black and white. The challenge was to create elements that stood out next to each other with different textures that would go beyond simple black and white. I have been forever inspired by 19thcentury photography, where most people had only one opportunity to capture themselves in time. This portrait hopes to capture the love between Miss Ada and her cat, Arnie, as they enjoy a little peaceful afternoon cuddle. debrastyer.com @debrastyer

Vegetable Prints Betsy Johnson

COLUMBUS, OHIO, USA

Veggies inspire me—whether from the farmers’ market or my own garden—they’re fascinating gifts of nature. I create patterns using vegetables and black ink, finding that the elimination of colour helps maintain a focus on the veggies’ unique characters and shapes. betsymarie.com @betsymariedesign

La Perle, Ville de Quebec Kathryn Pryce

OKOTOKS, ALBERTA, CANADA

I was drawn to printmaking because the lines and textures achieved with etching and aquatint cannot be achieved with any other media. Black and white etchings have a timelessness, they’re a representation of the subject, carefully drawn and rendered in line, tone and texture. This image is from Quebec, a historic and timeless street that was a challenge and triumph to represent in black and white.

kathrynpryce.com

@prycekathryn

Lupine Superbloom

Lynn M. Jones

EUREKA, CALIFORNIA, USA

I create in black and white because of one reason: time. Between a wholesale line, a commercial printing client, some side design work and my family, carving multiple blocks for multiple press runs usually isn’t an option. I spent more than 100 hours carving “Lupine Superbloom” with hand and power tools, as part of a Big Ink workshop in early 2024. You sign up for the workshop online months in advance, carve your woodblock and then meet at an assigned community art space on printing day. Organizer Lyell Castonguay helps participants print their giant blocks. “Lupine Superbloom” is 60" x 27", and was printed in San Francisco on April 20, 2024, in a Big Ink edition of 3. lynnoleum.com @lynn_oleum

Black & White

Sam Johnson-Clubb

LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM

This is a series of portraits of imaginary sitters based on composite images I create using collage and painting, which are hand-printed as paper lithos using my home baby printing press. I chose black and white as I felt that colour would create an unnecessary distraction for this particular series of prints.

@sam_johnson_clubb

Above Ground

Catherine Rizos

ALBANY, NEW YORK, USA

I made this print late in the afternoon on the last day of a week-long art workshop. I had already packed my paints, so I used what was left out on the table: black ink and a piece of thick white paper. I didn’t have a roller, so I spread the ink on my fingers and both sides of a small leaf I had picked earlier that day. I pressed the leaf down four times, and each time, spread the excess ink from the back of the leaf beyond its edges, which creates the halo effect. This composition marked a shift in my art practice to more experimental works. It reminds me of what can happen if we try something out when the conditions aren’t perfect.

@chattermarksart

Night Owl

Tina Armando

NEW JERSEY, USA

This is a linocut print of a barred owl. I chose black ink to represent this nocturnal friend in their preferred environment—the woods at night. I carved lines of different values for relief printing, which print as white lines that together portray moonlight reflecting off the owl. For example, I used thicker lines purposefully carved along the higher tilted side of the owl’s head. By keeping this a black and white only piece, I aimed to highlight the nocturnal nature of the barred owl. tinaarmando.org

@the.piney.printer

Sangfleurs

Jenny Lloyd

AMSTERDAM, THE NETHERLANDS

Sangfleurs is a series of collage pieces inspired by tattoo art and culture. I wanted the artworks to have an air of mystery, but also be ornate and dramatic, with a style mixing public domain visuals from across centuries to create a timeless atmosphere; creating the entire series in high-contrast black and white seemed like the most beautiful and evocative choice.

jennylloyd.pictures @jennyariane

On a crescent beach under a grey sky, Melanie Russ holds a piece of cool black rock in one hand and a rasp in the other. A driftwood fire crackles nearby, a two-way radio sits beside her. Melanie is serving two roles on this day, both of which are deeply rooted in her Haida ancestry. She is an artist, a carver in the tradition of her parents, Faye and Ed Russ. She is also a watchman, employed as a protector of culturally significant village sites within Gwaii Haanas National Park.

The stones underfoot have been smoothed into rounded shapes by the strength of the Pacific, but the rock Melanie carves is a sharp-edged block. This is Tllgaduu argillite, a uniquely Haida material that is found only at a protected site on Slatechuck Mountain on Haida Gwaii, the westernmost islands along the northern coast of British Columbia. This archipelago— once dubbed the Queen Charlotte Islands by a colonial government—is remote, densely forested, rich with sea life and sparsely populated by a mix of Haida folks and settlers. With evidence of more than 14,000 years of living on these islands, agreements made in 2024 by both the provincial government of British Columbia and the federal government finally legally recognize and affirm that the Haida Nation holds Aboriginal title to Haida Gwaii.

On the day we meet, Melanie is in the early stages of carving a mask from the hunk of argillite. She holds a loose vision of what the finished work might look like— this one may become Dogfish Woman, a supernatural being from Haida lore—but she ultimately trusts the argillite to help her decide what will appear. The rock is more than material, it is a collaborator in Melanie’s creative process.

“Carvers say argillite has a mind of its own,” Melanie said in a statement for a recent group exhibition highlighting women carvers of the Northwest. “My plans of what I’m going to carve never stick. I have a feeling that it already knows what it wants to be. The next thing you know, you’ve got a killer whale that turns into your bear. That’s the magic of carving. It reveals different shapes.”

A fine-grained sedimentary rock, the argillite of Haida Gwaii sits between shale and slate in hardness, making

Raven Is Supernatural Melanie Russ

TEXT BY APRIL DUTHEIL

This piece is a monumental argillite carving, in its size, composition, story and the many months it took to complete. It’s a transformation story about Raven turning into a Two-Finned Killer Whale, which is a crest belonging to Melanie’s clan, the Gaagyals KiiGawaay Clan (Those-Born-at-a-Reef-Called Gaagyals), otherwise known as the Skedans Raven clan of Haida Gwaii.

The overall shape of the piece has a prominent curve that lends itself to movement and motion, much like a wave in the ocean where this transformation was taking place. Where you’d expect to find the orca’s tail fin was instead replaced by the shape of Raven, particularly his feathered raven tail. The head of the orca, exaggerated with an enlarged head, eyes and teeth, speaks to its supernatural and larger-than-life characteristics.

Also significant is the detailing in the ribs and body: This is a technique that Melanie had learned from her late parents, Ed and Faye Russ, who were both talented argillite carvers and mentors to Melanie. Then there are two incredible dorsal fins, another feature characteristic of this supernatural being. The dorsal fins are strong and moving in unison, but rounded and slightly off-centred. Their shape exudes much presence, movement at every angle and intrigue.

facebook.com/haidacarvermelanieruss

cutting to the core

HANDS-ON WISDOM IN THE AGE OF INFINITE DIGITAL TOOLS

STORY BY BRENDAN HARRISON

As a writer, I often obsess over what to add to my creative compositions. Yet my most impactful choices are often about what to leave out.

In the early days of my creative career, I was an active lurker on design blogs, eager to develop my taste and make up for my lack of formal training. I became obsessed with Layer Tennis—live design events where two competitors swapped Photoshop files back and forth in real time, each having 15 minutes to add their mark before passing it on. Observing designers like Mig Reyes, Jessica Hische and Aaron Draplin, I realized that what made their design intuitive and great wasn’t just what they added, but also what they chose to conceal or leave out.

This fascination with collaborative creativity led me to pursue design-adjacent writing roles at iStockphoto, the Calgary-based company that helped kick-start the crowdsourced stock photo industry. There, I discovered a homegrown version of Layer Tennis: Steel Cage matches. On our forums, designers and contributors “battled” back and forth by remixing our stock content into wild, boundary-pushing compositions— sometimes beautiful, sometimes bizarre. Rich with the era’s signature distressed textures, damaged text and provocative visuals, these designs became the heartbeat of our creative community—a regular reminder of the magic that happened when talented people pushed stock content to its breaking point.

Inspired by the energy of these creative contests, our marketing team started its own Friday afternoon challenges. Although our team’s young designers were eager to compete, it was the seasoned creatives squeezed into skinny jeans and American Apparel T-shirts who dominated week after week. In a matter of minutes, they’d transform generic stock elements into complex, clever designs. I’d assumed their years of experience gave them the edge—until a holiday contest showed me I was missing something fundamental.

Each December, our office held a cubicle decoration contest—the kind of mandatory fun our jaded marketing team typically dreaded. But for a team of art school graduates, losing a creative contest to Accounts Receivable was unthinkable. Our “Winter Wonderland” theme started modestly enough: folding and cutting simple snowflakes from photocopy paper with dull office scissors. Then, from the depths of the supply closet, our creative director and art director—the same designers who had dominated our team

challenges—emerged with cutting mats and X-Acto knives. I set down my clumsy folded paper and dull scissors and watched with envy as they folded paper, sketched delicate patterns and performed what can only be described as artistic surgery. In short order, they had produced hundreds of intricate, geometrically complex snowflakes—a veritable master class in creating through removal. That was the moment it clicked for me.

Their edge wasn’t just experience—it was a deep, physical understanding of absence. They’d trained in a pre-digital era of design, of slicing film to mask layouts for photosetting text, of painstakingly arranging pasteups with glue and wax, and of working with physical masks in the darkroom. Every cut was a commitment. There was no undo button. These limitations taught them to see the void not as an absence, but as a tool. Creating by removing wasn’t theoretical—it was a daily practice. And it was a skill that translated seamlessly to both Photoshop and paper snowflakes. Accounts Receivable never stood a chance.

For a while, I worried that non-digital expertise would disappear as the old guard laid down their tools. But lately, I’ve noticed something surprising happening. Just as Layer Tennis designers rebelled against digital perfection with distressed textures and hands-on flair, the young designers I work with today are rediscovering earlier ways of working. Printmaking, letterpress, X-Acto knives—these tools are back, not out of necessity, but out of a hunger for human craft in an age of machines.

They’re learning what earlier generations already knew: Some design wisdom can only come from using your hands. From the way a blade moves through paper to how shadows fall across cut edges to the way ink seeps and bleeds, a new generation is seeking out this knowledge, eager to connect with the joy of tactile creation.

The design contests I’d observed early in my career gave me a unique vantage point to see the exact moment when the hard-won wisdom of irreversible decisions met the infinite possibilities of digital design tools. That’s why I believe today’s best creatives are well-versed in both. They can wield an X-Acto knife with the same precision they bring to a layer mask. And they understand that whether you’re dealing in paper or pixels, the most powerful creative act is knowing exactly what to leave out.

subscriber studios

Norma Barsness CALGARY, ALBERTA, CANADA

I feel very fortunate to have a studio in my home, and the luxury of overlooking the beautiful Rocky Mountains. I have been painting professionally for 25 years, and doing hand building pottery for over 15 years. I simply enjoy being creative and new ideas come easily.

My paintings are acrylic or oil. I prefer to paint large canvases, and often paint contemporary landscapes that are familiar to me. I take a familiar scene and try to turn it into something extraordinary. Sometimes my style is contemporary, with vibrant colours and shapes. My constant goal is to create pieces that speak to the heart. What is conveyed will be different for each viewer.

I hope my paintings and pottery will tempt others to choose to look beyond the mundane and to experience a unique and timeless look at simple life. I like to view what is commonplace and make it into something special.

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FRESH INK

Volume G: Glue

Featuring 46 profiles of collage and assemblage artists. uppercasemagazine.com/volumeG

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new curves

Large glass jars line the wall at my local camera shop and each one brims with different kinds of film. Portra, Tri-X, Ektachrome, varying speeds and chemistries, rolls of colour, black and white, all wrapped up in shiny packaging. I’m not sure they meant for it to feel like a candy shop, but every time I visit that’s exactly what I think. I stand before the jars and I’m a kid all over again, thrilled with the possibilities. I always seem to know exactly what I want, though: colour. For me, it’s always been colour. While the first photos I ever loved (snapshots that lived in old family albums and a few stills found on the pages of library books) were admittedly black and white, when I was eventually faced with the choice myself, I did not hesitate. Colour felt like a language I was always meant to speak and in the 20 years I’ve spent building a body of work, have found a sort of fluency of my own. Up until recently, I wasn’t

sure I could ever break from colour, even if I tried. But the thing is, I think it might be time. Over the course of the last year, I’ve felt the beginnings of a shift and as creatives, no matter what our medium, this much we know: We do not ignore the shifts. Most likely, the shifts are telling us something. And so, in recent months, when I found myself back at the camera shop standing before the great wall of jars, I listened. And I found myself reaching for black and white film, again and again.

Most photographers begin in black and white. They learn the language of composition, light and shadow before they graduate to the complexities of colour. I did the opposite—slipped in through the medium’s back door and skipped a step. It would be years before I realized this, before I learned colour photography hasn’t always been so radically embraced and that it was once considered too literal to be art. Before it found its footing (somewhere in the mid 1970s, a good century after photography was invented), it was really only seen as acceptable for advertising agencies and amateurs. According to the mid-20th century photography and fine art world at large, colour itself was considered a distraction. Vulgar, even—in the infamous words of photography legend Walker Evans. The world in complete colour, distilled in a single frame, simply held too much information. Colour photographs were considered too loud and mechanical in look and feel to be evocative and so completely literal they left little room for interpretation. Of course, a few colour-wielding mavericks paved the way for change (a story for another time) and now colour has unapologetically taken the main stage while black and white quietly continues to hold the line.

When I first started making photographs, I was hungry to fill each frame with information. Colour generously provided. I loved it when it was loud and I loved it when it was soft, I was in love with the entire range, and still am. But I think what I need now (maybe more than ever) is less. In a world overrun with information, where there is no end to the choices we are presented with on any given day, where things feel impossibly loud, less feels like more. Less feels like a gift. And maybe that’s what this shift is about. Black and white asks different questions, invites a distinctly different way of seeing and is perhaps less about how things appear and more about how they feel. Where colour sings, black and white hums. For me, it’s still an old road but the curves feel new. I’m ready to follow it, even if I don’t exactly know where I’m going. And I’m listening, hand to heart, I’m listening.

andreacorronajenkins.com @hulaseventy