Scaling Up.
Experimenting with larger formats has opened up an intriguing new direction in my practice. Recently, I’ve been wanting to work on a more imposing scale than I usually do. I’m drawn to the idea of translating the towering essence of some of my subjects, like the tall, dense trees from my photographs of deep forests, into an elongated format that could better convey that sense of grandeur and almost imposing presence. This meant stepping outside my comfort zone and working on a piece larger than anything I’ve tackled before.
In this first attempt, I chose a strip of wallpaper liner, approximately 1.5m by 50cm, as my canvas. Right from the start, the change in scale presented unexpected challenges. Used to working in small, precise brushstrokes with controlled layering, I found myself feeling out of control. Physically, I sensed the surface had a presence of its own, as though the canvas was actively shaping the piece along with me. This larger size forced me to re-examine my approach, particularly when it came to capturing depth, movement, and the overall sense of space within the composition.
Adapting my usual techniques for shadows and textures proved to be both challenging and rewarding. For instance, my typical approach of using fine brushes for details didn’t translate well on a large canvas. To create shadows for the leaves, I initially experimented with kitchen paper to apply washes, aiming to build depth by transferring ink across the surface. However, the paper quickly soaked up the ink, leaving only faint textures rather than the intended depth. I also briefly tried using crumpled tin foil, hoping it would hold more ink and create darker, defined shadows. Despite these attempts, neither material quite achieved the layered effect I envisioned. For the ground cover, I tried cut sponge pieces for a more textured base, but, like the kitchen paper, they absorbed too much ink and left the surface feeling flat. I may revisit this technique for smoother subjects, like bodies of water or calm skies, where a softer effect might work better.
As I continued to work with it, though, I gradually found a way to connect with the scale and adjust my techniques to suit the space. One aspect that became more prominent was the effect of shadows. Layering different washes of ink, I was able to create a striking sense of depth, especially within the trees, that I hadn’t achieved in quite this way before. The result is a piece that feels immersive, drawing the viewer in while having a somewhat ethereal quality. Depending on one’s perspective, it might even come across as dreamlike - or nightmarish.
This larger canvas and the effect it creates also resonate with the themes I explore in my work, particularly cianalas (the sense of longing and homesickness), collective memory, and place attachment. The sheer scale feels reminiscent of how memories and emotions often appear larger than life, occupying a space in our minds that we cannot always control. Working with a surface that feels alive and out of my hands reflects how memories - whether personal or collective - can shape themselves over time, especially when revisited through the lens of nostalgia or longing.
The forest imagery, too, connects with cianalas and the ways landscapes hold traces of history, both personal and shared. The layered ink and shadows seem to echo the way these memories build, layer upon layer, forming a place where past and present intersect. I hope that by embracing these larger, atmospheric forms, I can convey a sense of shared, almost haunting recollection - a collective memory that resonates, regardless of the viewer’s own specific experiences.
Moving forward, I’m curious to see how these techniques develop and whether the larger format becomes a more regular part of my practice. For now, the experience has taught me a great deal about adapting and pushing my own boundaries, particularly when it comes to evoking a sense of place and memory that is at once deeply personal and universally familiar.
