‘The Temptations’ stencils, from start to finish

When I began this project to make fourteen prints with Daniel Bugg of the Penfold Press on the theme of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (translated by Simon Armitage, Faber and Faber, 2017), I first made a painting of each image that I could then use as a guide when making the stencils. Seven prints into the fourteen I made the decision to work directly onto stencils, which means ‘holding’ the ideas I have for the colours of a print in my head, rather than referring to a painted study.

Like those for The Three Hunts completed last month, the stencils for The Temptations have been produced in this way. Once I’d mixed the paints for the ‘colour key’ (see below) I made the stencils while imagining how the colours would look once the print was underway The stencils are not rendered in the colours of the finished print, but with a grey, red oxide and black palette allowing me to better see the planned image on the transparent layers of drafting film that Dan will later transfer to the printing screens.

Below: rough sketch for the print.

A more refined study for the Lady of Fair Castle.

Gouache samples in the ‘colour key’ indicate to Daniel Bugg the six inks I want mixed for the print, plus black. Every colour requires a separate stencil. Sometimes several stencils of a colour are required so that the inks can be applied with varying tonal effects.

Here are images of the stencils as they progress.

Although they have their own allure, the layers of stencils give an entirely deceptive impression of what the print will eventually look like. The more layers added, the hazier the image becomes, as though viewed through a mist. It’s quite a feat, remembering all the colours involved and trying to imagine what they’ll look like when printed over each other. I keep notes to hand, but the process is one that relies entirely on being able to work toward an idea that won’t be revealed until the printer begins to assemble the image from layers of inks mixed to match my colour samples.

 

After Dan has transferred the images to the screens, the long slow task begins of mixing inks and proofing. Once all the proofs have been examined, tweaked and finally agreed upon, the editioning of the print can begin.

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The Green Knight Arrives

The Green Knight Arrives.

Edition size: 75, image size: 55.5 x 55.5cm, paper size: 70.5 x 69cm

Now available for purchase.

It begins at that darkest, mid-winter point of the turning year, when communities of the northern hemisphere celebrate in order to get through the hard times still ahead. In the poem Arthur and Guinevere are at the heart of the Christmas Court festivities when there’s an unexpected arrival at the door. Chatter ceases, all eyes turn to the spectre stepping uninvited into the warmth and light, bringing with it the chill of snow and ‘otherness’. For me it’s the most thrilling account of an ‘entry’ in the history of English literature.

Here are the stages that went into the making of this image, from sketches to compositional studies and a scale guide made in gouache and pencil, though the processes of building the stencils in layers to the final print. It’s an almost alchemical conjuring for me, new as I am to the mysteries of screen printing. But in the company of Dan Bugg I’m being led through them by a master. He has facilitated this adventure. We are now two prints into a series of fourteen, and number three is already well on its way.

 

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As I explore my options for images to represent the magnificent narrative of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the task is all about finding the spaces between the words. The Pearl Poet garnishes his poem throughout with lengthy and alluring descriptive passages. All action stops as pages of verse are devoted to detailed accounts of the Green Knight’s appearance, the appearance and caparisoning of his horse, Gringolet, the armour Gawain is formally arrayed in to begin his quest and the garments gifted to him when he stays at the the Castle of Lord Bertilak.

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Gouache and pencil study

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The descriptions of how the Green Knight looks at the moment he rides his horse into the Christmas celebrations, are not what move me to make images. I’m driven more by what underlies the arrival, and by the way everything has changed by the time he leaves.

For this first encounter with the Green Knight we spy on him outside the court, eyes closed as he prepares for what lies ahead. It’s essentially a portrait, an intimate close-up to draw the viewer into what’s about to be unleashed. Sorcery of the winter variety is afoot, and as though in anticipation of what will one day unfold at Camelot… the seeds of its destruction having been present at its inception… the tower beyond is crowned with flame. Everything must end, everything must fail eventually, and here the Green Knight is the herald and catalyst of what will one day bring about Camelot’s fall.

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The stencils

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Printing and proofing

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Proof overworked with coloured pencils.

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Curator and art historian, James Russell, on the print.

‘Arthurian legend is full of warriors, but the Green Knight is unique – unearthly, even monstrous, yet still a knight. His unexpected arrival during the Christmas feast is one of the most famous entrances in the canon of British literature, accompanied in the poem by what Clive calls a ‘forensic’ description of his outlandish appearance.

Clive looks beyond the poetry to explore the character and cultural implications of Gawain’s nemesis, in an intense portrait of mingled power and vulnerability. The upper body of the Green Knight fills the frame, his statuesque head and massive arm suggesting the might of an ancient god – but in a sensitive pose reminiscent of Rodin. That flowing beard hints at the graphic gravitas of a playing card king; look again and it is a river flowing through a tattooed forest. Our 21st century Green Knight is a modern primitive, whose identity is etched into his skin.

A fascination for the decorated body has long been a feature of Clive’s work, and here there is a powerful pictorial contrast between the blood-red towers and battlements of Camelot and the organic forms inked into the Green Knight’s skin. As he prepares to bang on the door of King Arthur’s great hall, we can’t help but notice the lopped oak tree on his raised arm. Is this a record of violence done to nature? Nothing is explicit, but much is implied in this luminous vision of contrasting cultures: medieval Christian civilisation on the one hand, and, on the other, the timeless wild.’

James Russell

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