From Idea to Ink: The Story Behind My Shirt-Making Journey

I’ve had this idea of making shirts for a very long time. The kind of idea that just lingers. It doesn't scream for attention, it just patiently waits — until suddenly, it’s all you can think about again.

About a year ago, it started brewing in the back of my mind. I knew I wanted to do it differently this time. Not just slap a design on a shirt and call it a day, but actually build a process that made sense for the kind of work I do — especially my detailed, line-heavy ink drawings.

I kept coming back to the world of block printing. There’s something deeply satisfying about the tactile nature of it — the permanence of carving a block, the hands-on process, the way each print has its own imperfections. I thought, what if I could do this with wood? A block that lasts. One I could use again and again.

So I went down the rabbit hole.

I binge-watched David Bull’s videos. His dedication to woodblock printing is unmatched. While I wouldn’t go fully traditional, his approach taught me a lot about patience, technique, and the beauty of craftsmanship. I knew, though, that carving my detailed linework by hand wasn’t going to cut it. Not unless I wanted to sacrifice half the drawing or half my sanity.

That’s when the idea of using a laser started to take shape. A laser could translate my illustrations — the density of lines, the textures — with far more precision. So I gave it a shot.

I bought a Woodzilla press, hoping it would give me enough pressure to print directly on paper and fabric. It worked... sort of. But it wasn’t enough. Not for fabric. Not consistently.

Then I started experimenting with burning linoleum instead. It was easier to print with, but man — it stank. Literally. The fumes were awful and I’m pretty sure not great for my lungs. It didn’t feel like a sustainable option.

Eventually, I pivoted again — to rubber plates.

Laser-engraved rubber stamps turned out to be a surprisingly good solution. They captured my lines in all their chaotic, scribbly glory. No chipping, no cracking, and they held detail beautifully. I could finally print designs that looked like my drawings, not just a simplified version of them.

But of course, it didn’t end there.

I started noticing other problems with the rubber stamps. Too much pressure started damaging areas where my work had clusters of ultra-fine lines. The plates couldn’t handle it over time. So even while I was printing, I was already thinking ahead — searching for a better way to carry this forward.

And I think I found it.

But that’s for a later date.

First, we celebrate the minor wins — the shirts that did get finished, the ones that made it through the chaos.

Want to see how the whole process unfolded?