Every print I make starts with a drawing. I strip it down into bold black-and-white lines that I know will carve well. Before I even transfer the design, I take time to make my own nori—rice paste cooked from starch and water. It’s a small ritual that connects me to the tradition of printmaking, and later it helps the ink sit smoothly on the paper.

Once the design is ready, I trace it onto the block and begin carving. Cutting away everything but the lines I want to keep is slow, deliberate work, and it’s one of the parts I enjoy most. When the carving feels right, I pull a proof print to see how the lines and contrasts come together, and I make small adjustments until the image feels balanced.

Printing is where everything comes alive. I brush sumi ink, blended with a touch of nori, across the raised surface of the block. The paper is lightly dampened so it takes the ink cleanly. I place it on the block, rub it down with a baren, and peel it back to reveal the impression.

I repeat this process for the edition, and even though the image is the same, no two prints are ever exactly alike. Each pull has tiny differences that make it its own piece. When they’re dry, I sign and number them, then sleeve them carefully so they’re ready to be sent out into the world.