Why I Changed My Mind About Prints

23 August 2026

For a long time, I said no to prints.

I sat on the fence about it for years — partly not wanting to add to fast-paced consumerism, partly because I wasn't convinced prints could ever really look that good on a wall.

What changed my mind was understanding quality. The scanning and colour matching. The paper, which mattered more than I expected — and turned out to be genuinely exciting. Framing too, though that's a topic for another day.

What A Fine Art Print Actually Is

The first thing that shifted for me was realizing a fine art print is not a poster.

A poster is mass-produced — often on a thin glossy paper, with little regard for colour accuracy or longevity. It's decoration, and there's nothing wrong with that. But it isn't what I make now.

A giclée print is different. Made on archival thick cotton rag paper, colour-matched with real care, handled by a human at every stage — it becomes a collaboration between the artist and the print studio. A work in its own right.

Seeing my painting on beautiful, textured cotton rag is genuinely exciting — more than I expected, back when I was still unsure. I love paper, but I prefer to paint on canvas, since it's more durable and can handle rough brushwork (and my inevitable mistakes). A giclée print brings that same tactility to a piece that was never on paper to begin with.

This is what changed things for me. Everything I make comes from a place of intention — I want each piece to mean something, to spark something in the person who brings it home. A print made with this level of care can hold onto the intention behind the original, and passes that feeling on.

Why Prints Matter

Original paintings are expensive. As they should be — the time, the materials, the years of practice all go into that price.

But that also puts originals out of reach for many people who genuinely love the work. Prints change that. They let more people live with art they love, without needing an original-painting budget.

A painting can take weeks, sometimes months. Once it sells, it's gone. Prints let me share that work with more people, again and again, and build a practice that's sustainable — one that lets me slow down, create with more intention, and make more meaningful work.

None of this makes the original less special. If anything, it becomes more so. The original is the source — my hand in every mark, every decision made in the moment. The print is a beautiful echo of that. But the original is always the original.

Building a Practice, Not Just Making Sales

It matters that artists actually benefit financially from their own work, beyond a single original sale.

When a painting sells through a gallery, the artist typically keeps a relatively small percentage after commission. That's the standard arrangement — but it rarely adds up to lasting financial security.

Prints are different. When I retain copyright, each one sold is a direct extension of that original creative labour — income that doesn't depend on parting with the one-of-a-kind piece, or relying on someone else's margin. It's one of the more sustainable ways to keep creating, keep growing, and keep some control over how that growth is funded.

Bring Something Beautiful Home

So this is where I landed, after years on the fence: buy the print. Support the practice. Bring something beautiful into your home.

But more than that — bring home something that means something. My purpose has never been to just make pretty things. It's to create work that's intentional, genuinely mine, and reaches something in the people who choose to live with it. Print or original, that intention doesn't fade.

And know that the work carries everything that went into making it — including, in this case, however long it took me to come around.