Opening: Why Hadrian’s Wall?
I was born north of the Wall in Gosforth, Newcastle. Growing up, Hadrian’s Wall — the “Roman Wall” as we knew it — was always present. From Wallsend, past Chesters and Vindolanda, out toward Haltwhistle and Carlisle, the Wall was part of our landscape and our memory.
Over the years I’ve walked sections many times with family. I never walked it end to end, but I know its segments well: a quick diversion off the Military Road, a detour near Corbridge or Hexham, a longer walk near Vindolanda or Chesters.
The loss of the Sycamore Gap tree in 2023 struck a deep chord. I had been there only two years before with my sister, her family, and my nephews and nieces. It was always one of those places you make an excuse to return to — a family walk, a longer hike, a memory in the making.
That loss prompted me to create a print of Sycamore Gap, and then to imagine a further two prints that could frame it — prints that would not just show iconic locations, but balance the central panel with the rise and fall of the Wall itself.
Designing the Set
From the start, I knew the Sycamore Gap would sit at the centre. The question was: what would I place either side?
I wanted locations that carried the same rollercoaster rhythm — crags, dips, rises, and sweeping landscape. After much sketching, I chose Walltown Crags for the west and Winshields Crag for the east. Both places offer the same undulating, dramatic movement that Sycamore Gap represents.
My earliest thumbnail — scratched on the back of a scrap of paper — captured the simplicity I was aiming for. From there, I scaled up through tracing paper, pencil scamps, and digital mock-ups until the flow of the three felt right.
Cutting the Blocks
My carving style has changed since I cut the first Sycamore Gap block in 2024. Back then, I hinted at forms; now, I cut more deliberately.
Sky chatter: I cut into the “blank” areas so the chatter becomes the cloudscape. These sweeping lines echo the movement of stars in a time-lapse photograph. The Wall: I now pick out individual stones, not just marks to suggest the Wall. The Wall deserves to be a key motif across all three prints. Grasses: The grasses in the foreground are cut with more rhythm, so their strokes link the three panels.
In the end, I re-cut Sycamore Gap so that all three blocks spoke with the same style. Each block was cut, proofed, then cut again two or three times before I was happy.
Chine Collé Experiments
Colour was the hardest battle. I tried four papers:
a dark moss green, a mid green, a vibrant bright green, and a straw yellow for late summer grass.
I also tested a mottled beige for stone, but it was too faint. The bright green was far too vivid for Northumberland in any season. Eventually I settled on muted tones — moss green, light olive, and golden straw — but always with slashes cut through the chine collé so no area of colour sits flat.
Those cuts of white light bring movement, and they became another unifying feature across the three prints.
First Proofs & Adjustments
First proofs on bright white cartridge paper looked flat and harsh. Switching to softer off-white and beige papers made all the difference. The warmer tones allowed the chine collé to sit comfortably and gave the ink more depth.
At this stage, I was also refining alignment and balance — adjusting chatter in the skies, deepening the grasses, and strengthening the rhythm of the Wall itself.
The Set as a Whole
I no longer think of these as a triptych with a single narrative, but rather three companion prints. Each can stand alone, but together they form a set that maps a stretch of the Wall many people know.
Everyone recognises Sycamore Gap. But Walltown and Winshields are just as much part of the Wall’s character: the rise and fall of the crags, the resilience of stone and grass, the vastness of the sky.
The Wall is the link. The grasses, moss, and chatter of the sky carry the rhythm from one panel to the next.
Closing Reflections
If I had more time, I would refine the stone further.
My Lewes Castle print used a particular handmade paper to create convincing stone textures, and I’d like to achieve that again for Hadrian’s Wall. That will mean sourcing a very specific textured Japanese paper and experimenting with it.
I may also make further cuts into the Walltown and Winshields blocks, carving more depth into the vertical drops and foreground grasses.
My inspiration comes from prints of the South Downs by Helen Brown at Bip-Art.
But for now, these three prints are a family. Working at A3 has become my rhythm — large enough for detail, small enough to handle in limited studio space.
Some of the old magic of pulling a first proof is gone; I now mock up colours and compositions digitally, even using AI tools to test combinations. But the act of cutting lino, of slashing into chine collé with a knife, of hand-printing on paper — that remains physical, direct, and honest.
For me, these prints are a way of holding on to a landscape I know well, and a tree that is now lost. They are a record of memory, place, and endurance — the flow of the Wall across time, and across paper.
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