Tracy Lang’s giant woodblock prints make a small medium big.

Lang, whose monoprints are on display for Bainbridge Arts and Crafts’ “Black and White” exhibit through January, works large in two ways. Blowing up a single figurative detail close to the point of abstraction, she also transforms a “little” art form – the humble woodcut – to a scale so big that one’s preconceptions are up-ended.

“I admire the ancient process and precision of Japanese woodcut prints,” Lang said, “the political intent of the Mexican revolutionary artists and the angst of the German Expressionists.”

Woodcut, the oldest form of printmaking with roots in Egypt and China, became a vehicle for fine art in the late 19th century through the influence of Japanese prints on early Modernists like Gaugin.

The energy of the gesture – the slice into wood – is transferred to paper through an ink impress. Translating woodcut large has meant developing a complex process.

First, Lang brushes an ink sketch on rough, 11-by-22-inch watercolor paper.

Then she blows the sketch up to scale on a special copy machine.

After pasting the enlarged sketch to oak panels laminated together, Lang wets the copy to make it translucent. Then she carves the white sections out with a drill.

The places where Lang has removed the wood will show as “negative” white space on the print, and where the board is inked, black.

“I always have to have an assistant to do the print,” Lang said. “We lay the paper down over the board and stomp on it.”

Each print now takes her about 12 hours to complete – an improvement over the 40 hours she spent on the first few.

“I’m a boat builder,” Lang said, “so all that process translates into the work I know how to do. I’m all about physicality and energy.”

Lang makes the prints as pairs. In each grouping, one print is of the complete figure, while the partner enlarges a single detail of the first, and – breaking with print tradition – runs the print to the edge of the paper.

“I got a lot of flak for doing that,” Lang said. “It’s a big printmaking ‘no-no.’”

While she uses friends for models, she says, her work is not portraiture. The individual personality is subsumed in service to the sheer scale and near-abstraction of the blown-up images.

The enlarged details turn discernible image to pattern. A shirt pocket resembles an aerial view of topography, a rib cage translates to sand dunes, the pattern on a dress becomes oversize moth wings.

“I am intrigued by the sporadic momentum of black and white,” Lang said, “the way pattern is the first thing you see and the object is secondary.”

Heavy paper

The heavy texture of the paper emphasizes the print texture overall.

The heavy paper is specially ordered from Japan at a cost of $120 per piece; using it would be an act of faith for any artist, but perhaps more for one who grew up relatively poor.

Lang’s father was a logger on the Oregon coast. The family moved 17 times, following the path of the clearcuts.

“I loved the smell of cigarettes and fresh-cut trees and diesel smoke,” Lang said. “It’s in my memory. When you’re a 6-year-old, you don’t see the moral issues.”

Lang believes she inherited her bent for visual art from her mother’s family.

“My aunt is a watercolorist,” Lang said, “and my mom’s mom is a painter. From the moment I was born, I sat in her lap while she painted her oil paintings. At 3, I started criticizing her work. She kicked me off her lap and said ‘here’s your own canvas.’”

In 1988, the 17-year-old Lang moved alone to Seattle. She soon fell in with a group of established Seattle artists she calls “intense sculptors,” including Peter Bevis, Mark Adams and Bill Vaegemast, who congregated around the University of Washington.

Her new friends brought Lang to the life-drawing sessions offered Tuesday evenings at UW. There, she was introduced to drawing from the model – as close as Lang would come to formal training.

“I learned my licks from the people in my community,” Lang said.

The Tuesday evenings began with visits to the Allegro Cafe, followed by the University Pub.

The conversation and camaraderie forged enduring friendships among the loose amalgamation of about 60 artists.

In 1998, after a decade in the city, Lang opened Trapeze Gallery in a storefront on 34th Avenue. During its three-year lifespan, the small space was the locus of activity for her figurative artist friends, hosting life-drawing sessions as well as showing their work.

“All the artists in my gallery were part of my community,” Lang said. “I sold a lot of art but I only broke even. I made $5,000 in three years.”

Another spin-off of the Allegro friendships was the collective studio space on Capitol Hill Lang helped found in 1990. Also dubbed “Trapeze,” the collective is currently housed at 11th and Pine.

“We’re like family,” Lang said. “There’s no ‘rising to the top.’ Instead we all support each other. We’re tight.”