Van Dyke Photography

After years of working with large-scale linocut and drawing, I recently returned to one of the earliest foundations of my practice - photography.
Over the past few days I have been experimenting with Van Dyke Brown printing, an early photographic process using light-sensitive chemistry, sunlight and hand-coated papers.

What began as a series of technical tests quickly became something far more organic and unpredictable. Exposure time, moisture, paper fibres, weather conditions and even drying methods started influencing the final image, allowing the photographs to behave less like digital reproductions and more like physical, evolving objects.

Working with botanical structures, tangled branches and woodland spaces, these first experiments revealed unexpected tonal shifts, soft atmospheric transitions and a material presence that strongly connects with my ongoing Rootlines and The Shelter projects.

Learning the Process

I began experimenting with Van Dyke photography using a simple starter kit, approaching the process less as a technical exercise and more as a material exploration. As someone who normally avoids working with chemicals, I was surprised by how physical and intuitive the experience became. From the beginning, I was less interested in perfect reproduction and more focused on how the images could shift through light, moisture, paper and time.

Exposure quickly became the most fascinating part of the process - especially during a constantly changing Welsh afternoon, where sunlight and clouds altered the behaviour of the prints almost minute by minute. Van Dyke reacts rapidly to UV light, and dark brown tones begin appearing almost immediately. Even on a partly cloudy day, some prints required only a few minutes of exposure before the images emerged.

Rather than following a rigid formula, I found myself responding to the process in real time: adjusting moisture levels, observing tonal shifts while the paper dried, and allowing unexpected changes to become part of the final image. The photographs began behaving less like fixed reproductions and more like living surfaces shaped by weather, chemistry and material interaction.

Happy accidents became an important part of understanding the process. At one point I accidentally wet the corner of a print before fixing it, which unexpectedly altered the tonal depth and behaviour of the image. That small mistake revealed how strongly moisture affected the chemistry and paper interaction.

After several additional tests - adjusting exposure times, humidity and the way the prints were washed - I was able to achieve much deeper and richer tonal ranges. Rather than aiming for complete control, the process gradually became a conversation between light, paper, water and chance.

My first print was extremely pale and barely visible, almost disappearing into the paper surface. But after a series of additional experiments, the following prints began developing much deeper tonal ranges and a far richer sense of atmosphere. The image on the right finally achieved the depth of darkness and tonal balance I had been searching for.

What fascinated me most was how unstable and alive the process remained even after development. Directly after washing, the prints carried warm, almost orange-brown tones, but as they slowly dried the colours began shifting again - cooling into deeper sepia and subtle violet-brown shadows.

Van Dyke turned out to be full of surprises. Rather than producing identical results, each print responded differently to sunlight, moisture, drying time and the absorbency of the paper itself. Watching the photographs continue to transform after exposure became one of the most compelling parts of the process.

These first Van Dyke prints became less about control and more about learning how the material behaves.
Sunlight, clouds, moisture, drying time and paper surface all influenced the final image in unpredictable ways. 

What interested me most was not perfection, but the moment when the process itself began revealing its own logic. Small accidents - overexposed highlights, wet edges, uneven coating or changing weather - became part of understanding how the image could emerge through experimentation rather than strict instruction.

One of the most satisfying discoveries was how beautifully Somerset paper reacted to the process.

The paper absorbed the chemistry in a way that gave the photographs depth rather than flatness. Some prints almost began resembling charcoal drawings or soft lithographs rather than traditional photographs. Fibres, rough edges and tonal shifts became part of the image itself.

The photographs naturally connect with my wider practice around Rootlines and organic structures. Branches, tangled growth, reflections and fragments of woodland appear less as documentation of landscape and more as layered spatial systems - suspended somewhere between photography, drawing and print.

Even these early tests already feel less like reproductions and more like physical objects shaped by light, chemistry, paper and time.

I intentionally avoid describing the exact process or providing a step-by-step guide for producing my Van Dyke photographs, as I am still actively testing, experimenting and discovering the possibilities of the medium myself. In many cases, the instructions provided with the kit did not produce the results I was looking for and required adjustments throughout the process. All experiments and modifications were carried out independently, at my own responsibility, and with consideration for health, safety and environmental precautions.