Wild Prints and Wise Lessons

What Cyanotypes Taught Me About Creativity

There’s something undeniably thrilling about trying something new. Terrifying, too.

I tend to go to extremes when starting something unfamiliar. I’ll either over-research, over-plan, and over-analyze until I’m completely paralyzed… or I’ll leap in headfirst, with zero idea where I’ll land.

When I started experimenting with cyanotypes, it was a little of both. I did my homework: researched the fascinating history, studied techniques, and gathered a wide range of materials—including different types of paper and even leather.

But then… I stalled.

I felt stuck because most cyanotype artists use flat, two-dimensional objects—like film negatives or perfectly pressed flowers—to get clean silhouettes. I didn’t have any of that.

Should I spend time collecting and pressing flowers? Order more “proper” materials? It felt like I was already falling behind before I’d even begun.

But then I thought: Sod it. I'm starting anyway.

And I did—using fresh, three-dimensional specimens from my own backyard. The results were imperfect. Messy. Unexpected. And in many ways, more beautiful than I could have imagined.

Here’s what I learned along the way:

1. Start before you're ready.

The first step is always the hardest—but it’s also the most important. Creativity thrives in momentum. You can read all the books and pin all the inspiration, but nothing happens until you begin.

2. Question the “rules.”

Expert advice can be helpful—until it becomes limiting. I quickly realized that breaking away from the traditional methods gave me space to explore and discover something uniquely my own.

3. Embrace the “failures.”

Not everything I made was successful. But each “off” print taught me something—about timing, texture, pressure, or light. I adjusted slowly, one variable at a time, and the work got better.

4. Let go of expectations.

I was sure I knew what would work. I was wrong. The materials I assumed would be “best” often resulted in my least favorite prints. The ones I approached with curiosity instead of control? Those turned out to be the most compelling.

5. Keep going.

I made at least thirty-five prints before landing on three that truly felt compelling. It takes time to find your rhythm. Give yourself grace—and keep moving forward.

I’m so glad I didn’t follow the standard cyanotype playbook. The pieces I created through this process feel wild, hazy, ephemeral—like dream states captured on paper. They don’t just document nature; they embody a fleeting moment in time.

If you're craving a creative reset—or simply want to bottle up that golden, endless summer feeling—I encourage you to try cyanotypes yourself. All you need is some cyanotype fluid, sunlight, and a few wildflowers (or weeds!) from your backyard.

And if you'd rather bring that feeling home without the mess, you can explore my limited edition giclée cyanotype prints here.

Here’s to imperfect starts, unexpected beauty, and the magic of just beginning.