As a nature-obsessed 4-year-old, my dad gave me a book on how to draw animals. The first drawing I made from the book was of a black-and-white rabbit. I can see it now — a bold, if somewhat naive interpretation of the example illustration — but I was proud that I’d made a “recognisable” image. My dad straightaway put the drawing in a small frame and stood it in a prominent position on the sideboard in our hallway. From that moment, I was hooked. Sadly, the drawing was lost over the years, but my passionate desire to create was not — being still present and at the very forefront of my day-to-day life.
Through primary and secondary school, I cherished a dream that I would one day work as an artist — or at least in a creative capacity of some description. The all-girls grammar school I attended was academically focused and those of us who aimed to study art in higher education were somewhat looked down upon. Nevertheless, one of the great-est days of my life was when I received my letter of acceptance to study for a degree in textile design at the Central School of Art and Design (now Central Saint Martins University of the Arts London). My time at art school was liberating — and I still feel privileged to think I was actually given the opportunity to study at this wonderful institution in Southampton Row, London.
Fast-forward to my graduation in 1981, and I was ill-prepared to launch myself into the world as a successful textile designer. Apart from being naive about the business side of things, I had no “contacts” in the design industry who could offer me a job in their studio — nor even a short work placement. After a year or so of working freelance and selling (limited numbers) of designs through agents who took at least 30 percent as commission, I landed a part-time lecturer role for the Fashion and Textile Design course at our local technical college. Although I loved the interaction with the students, I didn’t at that stage feel a vocation for teaching. The part-time work was also financially insufficient and, sadly, my career subsequently took the wrong direction. The next five years of my life consisted of a series of dead-end office jobs.
Following a career “break” of around 10 years to raise my three sons, I made the decision in 2002 to study for a Post Graduate Certificate in Education and train to be an art teacher in U.K. secondary schools. Having slipped so far away from being a creator, it felt good to get back to working with art and design on a daily basis, despite being hampered by the admin and “red tape” that has forever plagued the U.K. education system!
I completed my teaching induction at a large coeducational comprehensive school in Chelmsford, Essex, before taking up the post of sole art teacher in a nearby school for children with Special Educational Needs and Disabilities (SEND) in 2005. This proved to be a wonderfully rewarding job and it was whilst there that I started to develop what was to prove an enduring fascination and love for printmaking.
My 11-to-16-year-old pupils embraced the reassuring structure and exciting outcomes they were able to achieve with the linocut printing process, and simply loved the instant gratification they achieved from making mono prints — not to mention the rather naughty thrill of being allowed to roll ink directly onto (wipe clean) tabletops!
In printmaking, I’d not only found a winner for my students, but also for me. In 2018, I made the decision to leave teaching — partly pushed by the ever-increasing admin and paperwork that threatened to strangle my enjoyment of being a state school educator — but also in the knowledge that at the age of 57, I needed to make a bold step now, to give me any chance at all of realising my lifelong dream of being a full-time artist.
From school, I was able to purchase a job lot of lino, ink, and cheap cartridge paper, along with a few basic cutting tools. I then set about designing, carving and printing my first “real” pieces. My plan was to start an Instagram account to share my work online — and also to spread the word amongst family and friends that I was now making art which was for sale.
MY STUDIO ASSISTANT
Buster, my elderly Lhasa apso, is always a comforting presence in my studio as I work. He has a few spots where he likes to park himself — sometimes putting himself in danger of being stepped on! Usually, he retreats to a small dog bed in the corner of the room — but occasionally he claims the little chair to the left of my etching press, giving him a panoramic view of people and dogs passing in the street below. Buster has the distinguishing feature of having just one eye — but in the true style of an animal who “just gets on with it,” he’s a constant example of positivity to me!
I began taking commissions from people who wanted linocut prints made of their pets and, so, Inky Dog Studio was born. My son created for me a logo from a print I made of Roxy — the English bulldog (from Canada!) — who was one of my very first lino pet commissions. Although I made the print around six years ago, her character and how she promotes my “made in the UK” brand is still as fresh and apt for me now as it was then. However, due to the evolvement of my printmaking practice and my unwillingness to remain static and typecast as an artist, I find myself making very few linocuts of dogs anymore!
Nature Imprinted by Jane Spink. Published by Search Press, $29.95
My creative journey of exploring nature through a variety of printmaking processes has evolved beyond my wildest imagination and the Instagram account I started back in 2018 now has more than 120K followers.
I can truthfully say that writing my book Nature Imprinted has not only been instrumental in the growth of my personal printmaking practice but has also opened my eyes to a whole new world of possibilities: collaborating with others, sharing my processes, and creating projects to encourage people to embark on their own art journeys.
My lifelong love of, and indeed my emotional dependence upon, nature will always be at the core of my own practice as an artist. I’ve been afforded the opportunity to share my work with a far bigger audience than I ever thought possible. This has given me a platform — and with it, a responsibility. The vast majority of people love the benefits they feel from looking at, and being amongst, natural beauty — animals, birds, plants, trees. The ecosystem that we not only enjoy, but also rely on for our very survival as a species, is under daily threat from the human race.
In my own small way, I want to use my social media presence, and my art and processes, as a way of communicating the essential presence of nature in all our lives.
As a nature-obsessed 4-year-old, my dad gave me a book on how to draw animals. The first drawing I made from the book was of a black-and-white rabbit. I can see it now — a bold, if somewhat naive interpretation of the example illustration — but I was proud that I’d made a “recognisable” image. My dad straightaway put the drawing in a small frame and stood it in a prominent position on the sideboard in our hallway. From that moment, I was hooked. Sadly, the drawing was lost over the years, but my passionate desire to create was not — being still present and at the very forefront of my day-to-day life.
Through primary and secondary school, I cherished a dream that I would one day work as an artist — or at least in a creative capacity of some description. The all-girls grammar school I attended was academically focused and those of us who aimed to study art in higher education were somewhat looked down upon. Nevertheless, one of the great-est days of my life was when I received my letter of acceptance to study for a degree in textile design at the Central School of Art and Design (now Central Saint Martins University of the Arts London). My time at art school was liberating — and I still feel privileged to think I was actually given the opportunity to study at this wonderful institution in Southampton Row, London.
Fast-forward to my graduation in 1981, and I was ill-prepared to launch myself into the world as a successful textile designer. Apart from being naive about the business side of things, I had no “contacts” in the design industry who could offer me a job in their studio — nor even a short work placement. After a year or so of working freelance and selling (limited numbers) of designs through agents who took at least 30 percent as commission, I landed a part-time lecturer role for the Fashion and Textile Design course at our local technical college. Although I loved the interaction with the students, I didn’t at that stage feel a vocation for teaching. The part-time work was also financially insufficient and, sadly, my career subsequently took the wrong direction. The next five years of my life consisted of a series of dead-end office jobs.
Following a career “break” of around 10 years to raise my three sons, I made the decision in 2002 to study for a Post Graduate Certificate in Education and train to be an art teacher in U.K. secondary schools. Having slipped so far away from being a creator, it felt good to get back to working with art and design on a daily basis, despite being hampered by the admin and “red tape” that has forever plagued the U.K. education system!
I completed my teaching induction at a large coeducational comprehensive school in Chelmsford, Essex, before taking up the post of sole art teacher in a nearby school for children with Special Educational Needs and Disabilities (SEND) in 2005. This proved to be a wonderfully rewarding job and it was whilst there that I started to develop what was to prove an enduring fascination and love for printmaking.
My 11-to-16-year-old pupils embraced the reassuring structure and exciting outcomes they were able to achieve with the linocut printing process, and simply loved the instant gratification they achieved from making mono prints — not to mention the rather naughty thrill of being allowed to roll ink directly onto (wipe clean) tabletops!
In printmaking, I’d not only found a winner for my students, but also for me. In 2018, I made the decision to leave teaching — partly pushed by the ever-increasing admin and paperwork that threatened to strangle my enjoyment of being a state school educator — but also in the knowledge that at the age of 57, I needed to make a bold step now, to give me any chance at all of realising my lifelong dream of being a full-time artist.
From school, I was able to purchase a job lot of lino, ink, and cheap cartridge paper, along with a few basic cutting tools. I then set about designing, carving and printing my first “real” pieces. My plan was to start an Instagram account to share my work online — and also to spread the word amongst family and friends that I was now making art which was for sale.
MY STUDIO ASSISTANT
Buster, my elderly Lhasa apso, is always a comforting presence in my studio as I work. He has a few spots where he likes to park himself — sometimes putting himself in danger of being stepped on! Usually, he retreats to a small dog bed in the corner of the room — but occasionally he claims the little chair to the left of my etching press, giving him a panoramic view of people and dogs passing in the street below. Buster has the distinguishing feature of having just one eye — but in the true style of an animal who “just gets on with it,” he’s a constant example of positivity to me!
I began taking commissions from people who wanted linocut prints made of their pets and, so, Inky Dog Studio was born. My son created for me a logo from a print I made of Roxy — the English bulldog (from Canada!) — who was one of my very first lino pet commissions. Although I made the print around six years ago, her character and how she promotes my “made in the UK” brand is still as fresh and apt for me now as it was then. However, due to the evolvement of my printmaking practice and my unwillingness to remain static and typecast as an artist, I find myself making very few linocuts of dogs anymore!
Nature Imprinted by Jane Spink. Published by Search Press, $29.95
My creative journey of exploring nature through a variety of printmaking processes has evolved beyond my wildest imagination and the Instagram account I started back in 2018 now has more than 120K followers.
I can truthfully say that writing my book Nature Imprinted has not only been instrumental in the growth of my personal printmaking practice but has also opened my eyes to a whole new world of possibilities: collaborating with others, sharing my processes, and creating projects to encourage people to embark on their own art journeys.
My lifelong love of, and indeed my emotional dependence upon, nature will always be at the core of my own practice as an artist. I’ve been afforded the opportunity to share my work with a far bigger audience than I ever thought possible. This has given me a platform — and with it, a responsibility. The vast majority of people love the benefits they feel from looking at, and being amongst, natural beauty — animals, birds, plants, trees. The ecosystem that we not only enjoy, but also rely on for our very survival as a species, is under daily threat from the human race.
In my own small way, I want to use my social media presence, and my art and processes, as a way of communicating the essential presence of nature in all our lives.
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As a nature-obsessed 4-year-old, my dad gave me a book on how to draw animals. The first drawing I made from the book was of a black-and-white rabbit. I can see it now — a bold, if somewhat naive interpretation of the example illustration — but I was proud that I’d made a “recognisable” image. My dad straightaway put the drawing in a small frame and stood it in a prominent position on the sideboard in our hallway. From that moment, I was hooked. Sadly, the drawing was lost over the years, but my passionate desire to create was not — being still present and at the very forefront of my day-to-day life.
Through primary and secondary school, I cherished a dream that I would one day work as an artist — or at least in a creative capacity of some description. The all-girls grammar school I attended was academically focused and those of us who aimed to study art in higher education were somewhat looked down upon. Nevertheless, one of the great-est days of my life was when I received my letter of acceptance to study for a degree in textile design at the Central School of Art and Design (now Central Saint Martins University of the Arts London). My time at art school was liberating — and I still feel privileged to think I was actually given the opportunity to study at this wonderful institution in Southampton Row, London.
Fast-forward to my graduation in 1981, and I was ill-prepared to launch myself into the world as a successful textile designer. Apart from being naive about the business side of things, I had no “contacts” in the design industry who could offer me a job in their studio — nor even a short work placement. After a year or so of working freelance and selling (limited numbers) of designs through agents who took at least 30 percent as commission, I landed a part-time lecturer role for the Fashion and Textile Design course at our local technical college. Although I loved the interaction with the students, I didn’t at that stage feel a vocation for teaching. The part-time work was also financially insufficient and, sadly, my career subsequently took the wrong direction. The next five years of my life consisted of a series of dead-end office jobs.
Following a career “break” of around 10 years to raise my three sons, I made the decision in 2002 to study for a Post Graduate Certificate in Education and train to be an art teacher in U.K. secondary schools. Having slipped so far away from being a creator, it felt good to get back to working with art and design on a daily basis, despite being hampered by the admin and “red tape” that has forever plagued the U.K. education system!
I completed my teaching induction at a large coeducational comprehensive school in Chelmsford, Essex, before taking up the post of sole art teacher in a nearby school for children with Special Educational Needs and Disabilities (SEND) in 2005. This proved to be a wonderfully rewarding job and it was whilst there that I started to develop what was to prove an enduring fascination and love for printmaking.
My 11-to-16-year-old pupils embraced the reassuring structure and exciting outcomes they were able to achieve with the linocut printing process, and simply loved the instant gratification they achieved from making mono prints — not to mention the rather naughty thrill of being allowed to roll ink directly onto (wipe clean) tabletops!
In printmaking, I’d not only found a winner for my students, but also for me. In 2018, I made the decision to leave teaching — partly pushed by the ever-increasing admin and paperwork that threatened to strangle my enjoyment of being a state school educator — but also in the knowledge that at the age of 57, I needed to make a bold step now, to give me any chance at all of realising my lifelong dream of being a full-time artist.
From school, I was able to purchase a job lot of lino, ink, and cheap cartridge paper, along with a few basic cutting tools. I then set about designing, carving and printing my first “real” pieces. My plan was to start an Instagram account to share my work online — and also to spread the word amongst family and friends that I was now making art which was for sale.
MY STUDIO ASSISTANT
Buster, my elderly Lhasa apso, is always a comforting presence in my studio as I work. He has a few spots where he likes to park himself — sometimes putting himself in danger of being stepped on! Usually, he retreats to a small dog bed in the corner of the room — but occasionally he claims the little chair to the left of my etching press, giving him a panoramic view of people and dogs passing in the street below. Buster has the distinguishing feature of having just one eye — but in the true style of an animal who “just gets on with it,” he’s a constant example of positivity to me!
I began taking commissions from people who wanted linocut prints made of their pets and, so, Inky Dog Studio was born. My son created for me a logo from a print I made of Roxy — the English bulldog (from Canada!) — who was one of my very first lino pet commissions. Although I made the print around six years ago, her character and how she promotes my “made in the UK” brand is still as fresh and apt for me now as it was then. However, due to the evolvement of my printmaking practice and my unwillingness to remain static and typecast as an artist, I find myself making very few linocuts of dogs anymore!
Nature Imprinted by Jane Spink. Published by Search Press, $29.95
My creative journey of exploring nature through a variety of printmaking processes has evolved beyond my wildest imagination and the Instagram account I started back in 2018 now has more than 120K followers.
I can truthfully say that writing my book Nature Imprinted has not only been instrumental in the growth of my personal printmaking practice but has also opened my eyes to a whole new world of possibilities: collaborating with others, sharing my processes, and creating projects to encourage people to embark on their own art journeys.
My lifelong love of, and indeed my emotional dependence upon, nature will always be at the core of my own practice as an artist. I’ve been afforded the opportunity to share my work with a far bigger audience than I ever thought possible. This has given me a platform — and with it, a responsibility. The vast majority of people love the benefits they feel from looking at, and being amongst, natural beauty — animals, birds, plants, trees. The ecosystem that we not only enjoy, but also rely on for our very survival as a species, is under daily threat from the human race.
In my own small way, I want to use my social media presence, and my art and processes, as a way of communicating the essential presence of nature in all our lives.
The Women Create Foundation is a catalyst for small but significant strides to empower women creators through grants that help bring projects to life and foster innovation.
