ARTIST INTERVIEW
Materializing Absence: Printmaking as a Lens for Memory and the Uncanny in Paul Coldwell’s Work
Lihong Liu talks to Paul Coldwell and reflects on his work
Text and interview by Lihong Liu
25 Feb 2026
Text and interview by Lihong Liu
25 Feb 2026
Paul Coldwell (b. 1952) is a British artist whose practice includes prints, sculptures, and installations. He constantly explores how new technologies affect traditional printmaking, and the influence of digital technology is evident in his works. He turns common objects into quiet coordinates of a self-charted journey, letting their familiar weight declare both what is here and what has gone, so identity becomes the sum of absences made present. And so, his works always carry a vivid narrative force and reflect how the very images of domestic everyday objects can both bear memories and kindle imagination.
Coldwell's prints often construct complex visual effects and narratives by layering different image elements (such as photography, drawing, and a layer of halftone dots). Through this way, Coldwell is able to interweave different moments, memory and reality, giving viewers a strong sense of temporal dislocation when they engage with his work. Besides, the responses to the issue of presence and absence through his work further touch the expression of the uncanny.
Paul Coldwell, Border I, 2002
Paul Coldwell, Frames & Light (Red), 2018. Paper Size 73x56cm. Image size 60x40cm.Relief prints from laser cut woodblocks prints.
In many of his prints, Coldwell employs halftone dots to disrupt visual recognition, introducing an ‘uncertainty’ on both the visual and psychological levels. The web-like structure formed by these dots reduces image detail and renders the picture blurry and elusive. In his early print Border I (2002), although the halftone dots diminished the clarity of the underlying photograph, the background image was still easily recognizable, viewers could discern the outline of a mountain from the relatively vague picture.
However, in his later practice, such as in Uncanny Flowers (2016), Coldwell's manipulation of the halftone dots in the prints becomes increaseingly evident, and the resulting mosaic-like visual effect significantly lowers the readability of the background photo. Viewers not only had great difficulty locating the traces of the photos in the picture, but also found it extremely challenging to extract any obvious information that could be used for identifying the image when observing it closely. Only by observing the entire work from a certain distance and analyzing the different sized dots as well as the changes in their densities, can the viewer barely identify the vague outlines of the objects that he was trying to hide. Coldwell's manipulation of the halftone dot during this period fragmented the images of everyday objects, rendering them as if they were some kind of remnants of a past presence. Through this fragmented and incomplete presentation, viewers are prompted to mentally piece together the full scene. Such visual remnants of these images thus become an important clue for viewers to recognize the images themselves, but at the same time, this further emphasizes a sense of absence. Meanwhile, this way of presentation of memory not only adds a sense of mystery to the work but also creates an interplay of familiarity and strangeness in the viewer's mind, thereby strengthening the uncanny impression evoked by the work. So, the way his works embody the uncanny characteristics not only resonates with my research direction but also offers me a sense of connection and inspiration.
However, in his later practice, such as in Uncanny Flowers (2016), Coldwell's manipulation of the halftone dots in the prints becomes increaseingly evident, and the resulting mosaic-like visual effect significantly lowers the readability of the background photo. Viewers not only had great difficulty locating the traces of the photos in the picture, but also found it extremely challenging to extract any obvious information that could be used for identifying the image when observing it closely. Only by observing the entire work from a certain distance and analyzing the different sized dots as well as the changes in their densities, can the viewer barely identify the vague outlines of the objects that he was trying to hide. Coldwell's manipulation of the halftone dot during this period fragmented the images of everyday objects, rendering them as if they were some kind of remnants of a past presence. Through this fragmented and incomplete presentation, viewers are prompted to mentally piece together the full scene. Such visual remnants of these images thus become an important clue for viewers to recognize the images themselves, but at the same time, this further emphasizes a sense of absence. Meanwhile, this way of presentation of memory not only adds a sense of mystery to the work but also creates an interplay of familiarity and strangeness in the viewer's mind, thereby strengthening the uncanny impression evoked by the work. So, the way his works embody the uncanny characteristics not only resonates with my research direction but also offers me a sense of connection and inspiration.
Paul Coldwell, Uncanny flowers, 2016
Paul Coldwell, Uncanny Suitcase, 2016
Both Coldwell's and my works use everyday objects to symbolize memory and identity, and explore the theme of presence and absence. We often emphasize the absence of an object by creating an impression of its presence. For instance, the faintly visible suitcase in Uncanny Suitcase (2016), the ghostly image of a vase with flowers in Uncanny Flowers (2016), and blurry indoor scene with tables and chairs in Conversation II (2014), all of these elements seem to suggest the passing of a specific moment, or hinting someone’s arrival or departure.
Such metaphorical way is similar to what I applied in my installation work Phantom Project (2022). The work re-creates the interior layout of the living space at full scale through a series of linear three-dimensional "drawings," inviting viewers to perceive and relocate the once-occupied space through this scene that feels like a remnant of memory. Likewise, in my earlier series of paintings, The Ghost series (2020), where the silhouette image of everyday objects also imply my own absence, which thus, invites viewers to mentally fill in the missing parts. Thtough this process, these objects can somehow arouse viewers' associations with their own similar past experiences, thus, projecting their memories and emotions onto the objects in the work and triggering a sense of inexplicable familiarity with the depicted scenes.
Such metaphorical way is similar to what I applied in my installation work Phantom Project (2022). The work re-creates the interior layout of the living space at full scale through a series of linear three-dimensional "drawings," inviting viewers to perceive and relocate the once-occupied space through this scene that feels like a remnant of memory. Likewise, in my earlier series of paintings, The Ghost series (2020), where the silhouette image of everyday objects also imply my own absence, which thus, invites viewers to mentally fill in the missing parts. Thtough this process, these objects can somehow arouse viewers' associations with their own similar past experiences, thus, projecting their memories and emotions onto the objects in the work and triggering a sense of inexplicable familiarity with the depicted scenes.
INTERVIEW
One of the things about objects is that they will survive longer than us. By connecting us to objects, it suggests being part of a longer memory.
— Your works often explore the concept of journey by capturing different moments and constructing a sequence. How do your personal experiences and memories influence the way you select and arrange these moments?
— I’m interested in the way objects act as memory aides and in fact can trigger memories. Sequences are essential elements in constructing a narrative inviting the viewer to consider what came before and after. These in turn become narratives which help me recall experiences and reshape them.
Journeys are common experiences for all of us and take very different forms. I like the way that thinking or preparing for a journey focuses me on what is essential to take with me. It's like that question ‘what would you would take if there was a fire’?
— Your works often invite viewers to engage deeply with the details. How do you see the role of the viewer in completing the narrative or meaning of your work? How do you hope viewers will interact with your pieces, and what kind of emotional or intellectual response do you aim to evoke?
— I want my work to suggest our common humanity. Through using objects that are commonplace and ordinary, I hope to suggest what connects us rather than that which divides. I would like the work to be an invitation to the viewer to project their own narratives. I aim to engage the viewer intellectually, through recognition and association, but underpinning the work is a quite emotional aspect in which I explore themes of absence, presence and loss. I avoid using gesture, preferring a language based on creating the tension between the individual elements and through this express a common anxiety.
— You mentioned that you aim to express a ‘common anxiety’ through the tension between elements, rather than through explicit gestures. Since you avoid dramatic emotional expressions, I am very curious about the specific nature of this anxiety. Does it refer to the anxiety of impermanence (the fear that things will disappear or change), or perhaps the anxiety of memory failing us? How do you arrange the ordinary elements to trigger this specific feeling in the viewer?
— In terms of the anxiety that I talk about, I see that as a part of the human condition. We are temporary beings, we’re not here forever, and I suposse there is a tension between leaving a legacy or a sense of having been in the world, and the understanding that all things pass. In some ways, it’s a kind of existential anxiety. One of the things about objects is that they will survive longer than us. By connecting us to objects, it suggests being part of a longer memory. The use of very everyday objects is a way of connecting to mankind in general. There are many objects that we share across continents and cultures, things like spoons, forks, very often quite simple things that would be recognizable in Africa, China, England, or wherever. So, I’m interested in using objects that feel as if they could be located anywhere. And, I don’t want to lead the viewer into a personal narrative about me. It’s not particularly important who owns those objects. I’m not trying to tell that kind of personal story; I’m talking about something wider.
— I’m interested in the way objects act as memory aides and in fact can trigger memories. Sequences are essential elements in constructing a narrative inviting the viewer to consider what came before and after. These in turn become narratives which help me recall experiences and reshape them.
Journeys are common experiences for all of us and take very different forms. I like the way that thinking or preparing for a journey focuses me on what is essential to take with me. It's like that question ‘what would you would take if there was a fire’?
— Your works often invite viewers to engage deeply with the details. How do you see the role of the viewer in completing the narrative or meaning of your work? How do you hope viewers will interact with your pieces, and what kind of emotional or intellectual response do you aim to evoke?
— I want my work to suggest our common humanity. Through using objects that are commonplace and ordinary, I hope to suggest what connects us rather than that which divides. I would like the work to be an invitation to the viewer to project their own narratives. I aim to engage the viewer intellectually, through recognition and association, but underpinning the work is a quite emotional aspect in which I explore themes of absence, presence and loss. I avoid using gesture, preferring a language based on creating the tension between the individual elements and through this express a common anxiety.
— You mentioned that you aim to express a ‘common anxiety’ through the tension between elements, rather than through explicit gestures. Since you avoid dramatic emotional expressions, I am very curious about the specific nature of this anxiety. Does it refer to the anxiety of impermanence (the fear that things will disappear or change), or perhaps the anxiety of memory failing us? How do you arrange the ordinary elements to trigger this specific feeling in the viewer?
— In terms of the anxiety that I talk about, I see that as a part of the human condition. We are temporary beings, we’re not here forever, and I suposse there is a tension between leaving a legacy or a sense of having been in the world, and the understanding that all things pass. In some ways, it’s a kind of existential anxiety. One of the things about objects is that they will survive longer than us. By connecting us to objects, it suggests being part of a longer memory. The use of very everyday objects is a way of connecting to mankind in general. There are many objects that we share across continents and cultures, things like spoons, forks, very often quite simple things that would be recognizable in Africa, China, England, or wherever. So, I’m interested in using objects that feel as if they could be located anywhere. And, I don’t want to lead the viewer into a personal narrative about me. It’s not particularly important who owns those objects. I’m not trying to tell that kind of personal story; I’m talking about something wider.
Paul Coldwell, Conversation II, 2014 inkjet & relief, paper size 59 x 84cm, image size 55 x 70 cm
Lihong Liu, The Ghosts of Toothbrush, 2020 painting on silk, 30x30cm
Layering also brings in the notion of time and time passing, similar to the natural layering that occurs when one thing is put on top of another.
— Layering is a fundamental method in your prints. In many of your prints, there is a photographic layer that captures real-world scenes (found reality) or photographs of your own sculptural objects (constructed reality). In some cases, there is an additional layer of drawn elements. These images are stacked on top of each other, creating a sense of time. How do you see the relationship between layering and the concept of time in your work? How does this technique reflect your broader artistic philosophy? Specifically, how do you see the interplay between reality and constructed elements as a way to explore themes such as memory, presence, and absence? Can you share any insights into how this approach aligns with your overall vision as an artist?
— Layering in Printmaking is inherent in the process. Printmaking encourages the artist to work in stages as opposed to painting which is a continuous process. This not only suits my temperament but also leads me to thinking about how this becomes the equivalent of layering time. In one way, I see my prints as being the equivalent of archeologic time with the implication that further layers could be added. An aspect of layering is also that one layer partially obscurs the layer below. Along with this, I feel that I can combine different visual languages such as contrasting the photographic and the drawn elements to further emphasis how these images have evolved.
— So, you compared your layering process to ‘archeological time’. I find this perspective particularly intriguing. In archeology, we dig to reveal what is hidden. In printmaking, we add layers to hide what is beneath. How does this act of ‘partial obscuring’ specifically relate to your exploration of ‘absence and presence’?
—I suppose layering is quite an interesting process because, in printmaking, it is very much intrinsic to the medium. For example, the process of making an etching involves a cycle of processes: you etch, take your print, look at it, and then prepare the plate again for another layer. So, building up layers is just a natural way of working with the process. But in terms of the image, I like the idea that layers both obscure and reveal. By revealing one aspect of a layer, there is always something hidden below, and the only way to get to it would be to destroy the layer above. That tension is something I’m quite interested in.
Layering also brings in the notion of time and time passing, similar to the natural layering that occurs when one thing is put on top of another. In layering, there is both a revealing of material and a concealing, so that is how I try to equate it with the idea of absence and presence.
Poetically, I would like the image to suggest things that are perhaps on the edge of being lost. You know, the edge of existence. I try to give enough clues so the work can be read, but not to say “this is permanent”. I want to suggest to the viewer that things are in a state of flux, that they are subject to change. On a wider level, and I don’t want to sound too highbrow about this. I suppose it’s also about one’s own existence, and the fact that one will be absent at some point. When I talk about these ideas, it sounds quite melancholic. But as you know, I’m quite a cheerful person, yet these thoughts are always in the back of my mind.
— You often use halftone dots and selective focus to fragment the image and guide the viewer's attention in prints. How does this technique help you explore the concept of memory? Besides, traditional printmaking often carries a specific emotional weight derived from the physical resistance between the artist’s hand and the material. When creating through digital media, do you feel that the absence of this tactile interaction results in a loss of emotional intensity? How do you reconcile or navigate this shift from physical touch to digital control?
—The use of the half tone dot is a reference to how a photographic image in pre digital times had to be processed in order to be printed. I like the structure it imposes on the image and how by using different dot structures and size a surface can be created like cross hatching in earlier times. Working with the half tone on the computer allows me the opportunity to moderate each individual dot if required. Using the computer I avoid the gestural mark which I have personally always mistrusted. There is no indexical relationship between the mark made and how it is manifested on screen. I want the emotion to be created through conscious decision making rather than suggesting the spontaneous gestural mark. Touch is very much a quality I use in the sculpture works. I consistantly reference the hand and the scale of the objects is determined by how they feel. In print touch is more complex since all prints are made from an intermediary matrix (woodblock, etching plate, screen mesh etc).
— Layering in Printmaking is inherent in the process. Printmaking encourages the artist to work in stages as opposed to painting which is a continuous process. This not only suits my temperament but also leads me to thinking about how this becomes the equivalent of layering time. In one way, I see my prints as being the equivalent of archeologic time with the implication that further layers could be added. An aspect of layering is also that one layer partially obscurs the layer below. Along with this, I feel that I can combine different visual languages such as contrasting the photographic and the drawn elements to further emphasis how these images have evolved.
— So, you compared your layering process to ‘archeological time’. I find this perspective particularly intriguing. In archeology, we dig to reveal what is hidden. In printmaking, we add layers to hide what is beneath. How does this act of ‘partial obscuring’ specifically relate to your exploration of ‘absence and presence’?
—I suppose layering is quite an interesting process because, in printmaking, it is very much intrinsic to the medium. For example, the process of making an etching involves a cycle of processes: you etch, take your print, look at it, and then prepare the plate again for another layer. So, building up layers is just a natural way of working with the process. But in terms of the image, I like the idea that layers both obscure and reveal. By revealing one aspect of a layer, there is always something hidden below, and the only way to get to it would be to destroy the layer above. That tension is something I’m quite interested in.
Layering also brings in the notion of time and time passing, similar to the natural layering that occurs when one thing is put on top of another. In layering, there is both a revealing of material and a concealing, so that is how I try to equate it with the idea of absence and presence.
Poetically, I would like the image to suggest things that are perhaps on the edge of being lost. You know, the edge of existence. I try to give enough clues so the work can be read, but not to say “this is permanent”. I want to suggest to the viewer that things are in a state of flux, that they are subject to change. On a wider level, and I don’t want to sound too highbrow about this. I suppose it’s also about one’s own existence, and the fact that one will be absent at some point. When I talk about these ideas, it sounds quite melancholic. But as you know, I’m quite a cheerful person, yet these thoughts are always in the back of my mind.
— You often use halftone dots and selective focus to fragment the image and guide the viewer's attention in prints. How does this technique help you explore the concept of memory? Besides, traditional printmaking often carries a specific emotional weight derived from the physical resistance between the artist’s hand and the material. When creating through digital media, do you feel that the absence of this tactile interaction results in a loss of emotional intensity? How do you reconcile or navigate this shift from physical touch to digital control?
—The use of the half tone dot is a reference to how a photographic image in pre digital times had to be processed in order to be printed. I like the structure it imposes on the image and how by using different dot structures and size a surface can be created like cross hatching in earlier times. Working with the half tone on the computer allows me the opportunity to moderate each individual dot if required. Using the computer I avoid the gestural mark which I have personally always mistrusted. There is no indexical relationship between the mark made and how it is manifested on screen. I want the emotion to be created through conscious decision making rather than suggesting the spontaneous gestural mark. Touch is very much a quality I use in the sculpture works. I consistantly reference the hand and the scale of the objects is determined by how they feel. In print touch is more complex since all prints are made from an intermediary matrix (woodblock, etching plate, screen mesh etc).
Paul Coldwell, Passing thoughts – Shoes, 2014. Etching, edition of 5. Paper size: 30x40; Image Size: 52x40
Paul Coldwell, Ghosts and empties, 2014. Resin + metal Approx. 35 x 45 x 15 cm
Printmaking, almost by definition requires an indexical relationship between the matrix, (that which the artist works directly upon), and the subsequent print taken from the matrix.
— Your works often actively construct an indexical relationship between objects and their representations. And you have experimented with various techniques, such as photograph, X-tray, 3D printing. How do you view the role of this constructed indexical relationship in your work? Could you share a bit about how your methodology shifts across different projects? Besides, what value do you see in constantly pushing the boundaries of your artistic practice through new techniques?
— Printmaking, almost by definition requires an indexical relationship between the matrix, (that which the artist works directly upon), and the subsequent print taken from the matrix. Often this is a reversal, a mirror image of the original. The artist needs to understand how the marks drawn will be translated into ink on paper. So, for example a line cut in a woodblock will not only print in reverse but also as a white line as opposed to black. Likewise in sculpture the casting process creates a mould from which an indexical form is taken, often translated into another material. Transforming an image or object through casting/printing helps me engage with what I am trying to say through the work. Each stage in the process of finalizing a piece of work hopefully sharpens my focus so that which might have begun as a vague question, I wonder what happens if I do this finally providers me with an answer. These processes also give me surprises and help me re-engage with the image. I see all this as ways of keeping an image alive and helps satisfy my curiosity of how a final image will eventually look.
— Printmaking, almost by definition requires an indexical relationship between the matrix, (that which the artist works directly upon), and the subsequent print taken from the matrix. Often this is a reversal, a mirror image of the original. The artist needs to understand how the marks drawn will be translated into ink on paper. So, for example a line cut in a woodblock will not only print in reverse but also as a white line as opposed to black. Likewise in sculpture the casting process creates a mould from which an indexical form is taken, often translated into another material. Transforming an image or object through casting/printing helps me engage with what I am trying to say through the work. Each stage in the process of finalizing a piece of work hopefully sharpens my focus so that which might have begun as a vague question, I wonder what happens if I do this finally providers me with an answer. These processes also give me surprises and help me re-engage with the image. I see all this as ways of keeping an image alive and helps satisfy my curiosity of how a final image will eventually look.
Paul Coldwell
Paul Coldwell, Temporarily Accessioned-X-Ray, 2016. 115x152 Inkjet
Paul Coldwell, Cabinet III-Personal Objects, 2016. Mixed media 49x74x33
— We have previously addressed questions regarding media and technology in the context of artistic creation, which leads me to my final question. Moving from your personal artistic exploration to your perspective as an educator. You have spoken about satisfying your curiosity through both traditional and new processes, which brings up the context of art education today. We are currently witnessing a paradigm shift in art education driven by technology.
From my observation in China, there is a growing trend where traditional disciplines, such as painting, sculpture, and pure photography, are being restructured or integrated into broader interdisciplinary programs like ‘Art and Technology’ or ‘Art and Engineering’, with some comprehensive universities even choosing to discontinue these traditional courses entirely.
It seems that the UK perhaps maintains a different balance or philosophy regarding these changes. In your view, what is the enduring value of these traditional disciplines in the technological age? Do you see them as providing a unique, irreplaceable mode of thinking or craftsmanship that digital tools cannot replicate, or do they need to fundamentally evolve to survive? How would you respond to the argument that ‘traditional skills are becoming outdated’?
—That is a very big question on an issue I feel very passionate about. I think one of the dangers of new technology is that people are spending an increasingly amount of time experiencing the world through a screen. Given the richness of the world in terms of texture, smells, and color, it seems sad to rule out all those experiences in favor of something that has been mediated through a screen. There are lots of studies, for example, on the dangers of young children spending too long looking at screens rather than engaging in social activities with their peers.
I think one of the crucial things about traditional processes is that they all start with the body. If you’re making something that fits in the hand, versus something that fits on the back of a truck, those are two infinitely different experiences. It is very important to develop a sensibility towards specific things and to understand that the meaning of something is determined by its shape, size, color, texture, and smell. Traditional processes help to embody these experiences.
Regarding the pressures students face in the job market and the relevance of these skills, I am approaching the end of my career, so it’s not a pressing personal problem. But I think it would be very sad if the skills and knowledge of old were lost. I think it’s very important to have a mix; it makes life much more interesting. We’re put on the planet to have fun and enjoy ourselves, and physically working on an etching plate is a very different experience to working on a screen. It requires a very different kind of decision-making.
What is so important about what we call ‘old technologies’ is that they force a commitment to an image. On a screen, you can save at any point and remake. With older technologies, each decision you make, you have to build on. If you’ve made a line you don’t want, you’ve got to burnish it out, polish it, and scrape it, or embrace it and put something on top. There is something very human about the fact that you can’t go backwards. In human discourse, if you say something to someone, you can’t retract it. You might apologize, but it’s still there. If you can just erase it and start again, that’s very different. It’s interesting for students to understand that they have to live in the present, take responsibility for the decisions they make, and learn how to move forward. I really value new technology, but I think it is most interesting when it works alongside traditional practices. We must also remember that all technologies were new at one point. I’ve just written a large book on woodcut; Dürer in the 15th and 16th centuries was working with woodcut, which was the latest technology of the time. It enabled images to be distributed throughout the world in a way that hadn’t been possible before. So, there is a danger in thinking that technological is a recent phenomenon, technologies have been evolving all the time. All technologies were new at some point.
In terms of teaching printmaking, there is a danger of closing down traditional courses since it is very difficult to restart them. Once you sell the presses, you lose the knowledge of the technicians and artists who work with that technology. It is very difficult to then start from scratch and form a new department. The danger for young students is that although there may be an expansion of new technology, if it is at the expense of old technology, it can become a diminishing and less rich experience.