Sometimes talking about printing with other people reveals how little most people understand about the process of making a good print. Somewhere along the line, photography and print became blurred into a single idea. It used to be that all photographs were prints—there was no other way, and the words photography and print were interchangeable. Photography meant print. Period. Today billions of digital images are created each day, yet only a tiny fraction ever make it as prints, and those few that do, often end up as prints stuck to a fridge.

And this attitude isn’t limited to casual viewers—many photographers themselves no longer print their work or even see the point in trying. Too often, printing is dismissed as trivial, unworthy of a “serious” artist. Part of the blame lies with printer manufacturers and their decades-long marketing campaigns. We’ve been led to believe that printers are smart, almost magical machines: buy one, press a button, and a flawless print appears. Yet, anyone who has actually used a printer knows it’s nothing like that. You might get is a print, but it will not be what you’ve expected to see at all.

The truth is that a print is never simply ‘pressed out’ of a printer. A printer is a dumb machine: it knows nothing about the image it is producing, the paper it is using, the conditions in which it will be viewed, or whether the artist wants it more vivid, softer, or higher in contrast. It has no understanding of whether it is printing a volcanic landscape in Iceland or a cat. All of this must be decided and set by the printmaker. That’s why the same printer can produce a brilliant print in one person’s hands and a muddy, lifeless one in another’s. The artistry lies not in the machine but in the judgment and knowledge of the person guiding it.

The other reason for lack of understanding is the rise of fulfillment services with their enticing promise: “Just send us your file and we’ll ship the print to anyone, anywhere.” It’s a good pitch that many photographers fall for, but the product often falls short. The artist has no control, no visibility over what the customer receives, and the customer - believing the print came directly from Photographer X - rarely questions the quality. And without strict quality control - a print is no better than a poster. It is treated as a commodity and inevitably becomes one.

Printing is part of a larger act of translation. It starts from reality translated to a two-dimensional digital image, and back again into a physical object on paper as a print. Every stage of that translation requires both technical skill and artistic judgment. Every print carries the hand of the maker in every decision, and there is real art in that. And of course, none of it would matter without a strong image to begin with.

And here lies the paradox: the better the image and the better the print, the less visible the expertise behind it becomes. Canon and Epson understand this well, which is why they employ armies of brand ambassadors—photographers with strong source material whose work can be translated seamlessly into brilliant prints. That invisibility of labor and effortless success is one reason why prints are so often undervalued compared to drawings or paintings. People know far more about painters, paints, and their struggles than they do about photographers and printing challenges.

Yet understanding the full process might change how prints are seen. If more people grasped what goes into each print, more would value them, recognize them as art, and perhaps even fall in love with them. It is for this reason that I’ve written this guide. What follows is not a universal formula but a map—a sequence of five stages that begins with importing files from a shoot and ends with the framed artwork. Not every photographer follows all of them. Some stop at step1 or 3, others outsource certain steps in between. What matters is that each stage involves conscious choices, and those choices shape both the final result and the value of their art.

*A high-level overview of the complete printing process.*

Step 1: Selection

The first step is about narrowing down the images into a strong set of candidates for print. Most photographers are used to culling—sorting through and selecting their best shots—but evaluating with print in mind adds another layer. It’s no longer just about asking which images look great on a screen, but which ones will hold their strength on paper. Which images will look good on a wall? Which will stand the test of time?

This is also the stage where the selected files are batch-processed and given a first round of editing in software such as Lightroom: correcting white balance, adjusting the histogram, straightening, cropping, and removing obvious distractions. More detailed local edits, like skin retouching, are usually left for later steps.

To make this more concrete, let me give you an example. After a day of shooting I might come back with 2,000–3,000 images. Through several rounds of sorting, I cut about 90%, which leaves me with roughly 200 images. I process these in Lightroom, export them, and refine the selection again, this time with print in mind. At that stage, I might select only 30–50% as candidates for printing. Before moving on, I also try to form an idea of what kind of print each image might become - whether it’s something small, large, or better suited for an alternative process.

Step 2: Printing

Once images have been selected for printing, the next decision concerns how to produce them. This stage is often what people imagine when they think of “printing”: choosing the paper, the size, printer settings, and managing color. Most literature and workshops focus almost entirely on this step. Yet inkjet printing at home is not the only option. Options range from printing at home, sending files to a professional lab, or preparing digital negatives for alternative processes. Professional labs typically offer a far wider range of materials and the ability to produce larger sizes. They are also specialists in their offerings—papers, aluminum plates, acrylic glass, wood, canvas.

Paper choice introduces another layer of complexity to navigate. In an ideal world, one might print each image on every type of paper and at multiple sizes, then evaluate which combination works best. Reality, however, makes that impossible. Few can afford to test every option, which is why experience and competence are essential: they save both money and time while selecting the best medium for each image.

Knowing the intended use of the print—personal display, a gift, an exhibition piece, or a print for sale - influences which paper is most appropriate. Each scenario has different requirements and expectations. Conservation aspect is critical for prints intended for sale. Cotton-based papers are archival and long-lasting, but more expensive; wood-pulp papers are cheaper but less durable, yet perfectly fine for home prints where cotton based papers will be on overkill.

Example: From 100 candidates selected in the previous step, I will print 15–20 small 10×15 prints on different paper types. This first round eliminates weaker images and highlights the most suitable papers. The strongest 50 might then be printed at 10×15, from which around half are chosen to test at A4. At this size, flaws become more visible: focus issues, subtle distractions, or tonal imbalances that were not obvious at smaller scales. Some images return to Photoshop for correction and local edits before being reprinted. From the A4 prints, perhaps half progress to A3 prints. By the time printing reaches A2, only a handful images will remain. Many images have natural size limits: they work at 10×15, remain strong at A4, but begin to collapse at A3 or beyond. For an artist, it’s essential to know the point at which an image starts to degrade—and never offer prints beyond that threshold. Today’s AI upscaling tools can extend resolution, but resolution is not the real issue. What matters is how busy, engaging, and interesting the image remains at scale. The human eye adapts quickly: what looked striking when first seen at scale can become visually monotonous once the initial “wow” factor fades. That’s why painters and printmakers have long thought about “viewing distance” and “scale integrity”—the ability of a work to keep rewarding attention at different distances and over time.

In this workflow, my home printer capable of A2 is sufficient for most prints. Anything larger is sent to a professional lab. I have already printed an image in A3/A2 size and know that the image can hold its strength at larger size. Without this initial testing, ordering directly from a lab can feel like a gamble - you can never know what you’ll get back.

Step 3: Post-Print Modification

This stage is often overlooked, yet it opens an entire world of possibilities. A print doesn’t have to be “finished” once it leaves the printer. It can be toned, hand colored, overprinted, aged, or cropped. Gloss layer can be added to matte prints, or matte applied to glossy. Creativity is the only limit here. Post-print interventions have a long tradition in art photography and printmaking. Photographers and printmakers have often modified their work after printing to add uniqueness or character.

The reason many photographers skip this step today is simple: post-print processing is not part of the traditional photographic workflow or education. To do it well requires multidisciplinary knowledge, something few photographers possess. Broadly, these interventions fall into two categories: freehand modification and full-image manipulation.

Freehand modification includes drawing or painting directly onto the print. This demands a clear understanding of how different media interact with paper and ink: acrylic, oil, watercolor, inks, as well as the tools—brushes, markers, cotton swabs. It requires knowledge of color theory, blending, and application. Full-image manipulations, by contrast, are less demanding of artistic draftsmanship. Techniques like toning or second exposures rely more on chemistry and process than on hand and brushwork.

With post processing 10 identical inkjet prints can become 10 very different art objects. That’s what gives this step its creative potential: it breaks the idea of the print as a fixed, endlessly repeatable object. If two photographers print the same file, they will produce nearly identical images. But once post-print processing enters the equation, those same prints may diverge completely—each bearing the unique mark of its maker.

Example: I have toned prints in coffee, hand-colored with acrylics, watercolors, and inks, aged with heat or water. Of course, digital tools can replicate some of these effects, but the point here is not consistency—it is uniqueness. Each intervention adds individuality. It isn’t scalable, and from a business perspective it may not be efficient, but as a creative step it transforms a print into something truly unique.

Step 4: Matting

Matting is often dismissed as something outside the printing process. It is seen as uncreative, something to skip entirely or outsource to a framer. But this could not be further from the truth—matting is the step that transforms a sheet of paper into a work of art. Done well, matting elevates a print from paper into something special. It becomes a permanent part of the artwork, not just a decorative border.

Matting is both perception and preservation. Think of packaging: the way a product is wrapped and presented shapes how we value it. Matting functions the same way for a print—it frames the image, sets the stage, and creates the context in which it will be seen. At the same time, mats create a physical barrier, protecting prints from touching the glass, from fingerprints, and from environmental wear.

The obvious question is then - if standard mats are available everywhere, why bother making your own? The answer is that doing it yourself teaches you about your images. Cutting and fitting mats builds an eye for proportion, balance, and how presentation changes meaning. Custom mats give you full control over framing, and the difference is immediately visible. This knowledge also makes you a better judge when you order matt services form someone else. With large editions, economies of scale inevitably demand outsourcing and uniformity, which dilutes the sense of uniqueness collectors value. Historically, this is exactly why smaller editions with visible signs of craft command higher prices.

Example: For me, matting is the ultimate commitment to the print: dressing it to impress, making it truly unique. I often cut and paint my own mats, experimenting with non-standard window ratios. This gives me complete control over how the print is presented.

Of course, practicality has limits. If I had to produce 50 or 100 identical mats, I would outsource them to a framer with cutting machines—after first designing the mat myself. There is no need to manually create 50 identical mats, but designing the first one by hand is invaluable process. Outsourcing only makes sense once I already know what I want. It is like a designer who spends months creating a chair or a dress but once the winning design is found, it can be reproduced in a factory on a mass scale and at a fraction of a cost.

This is also why I resist producing large editions in principle. With 10–15 prints, every copy can be made by hand. With 50 or 100, the pressure to automate and outsource grows, and the collector ends up with something less personal. A small edition means I spend far more time on each print than someone who is using a print fulfilling service. That additional time is my investment in the “best print” for the most demanding collector and it is why my prints are priced higher.

Step 5: Framing

Up to this stage the process has taken a digital file and turned it into a physical print on paper. Mixed artistic skills may then be applied to modify the print, and matting gives it both presentation and protection. Framing is the final step in this interdisciplinary process.Framing determines how an artwork will live in the world. It is what separates a poster from art. The same image, unframed, can feel casual or temporary; once framed, it gains weight, permanence, and status. That’s why even inexpensive prints or posters look “upgraded” when placed behind glass in a proper frame.

Framing is both protection—against dust, moisture, pollutants, and UV light—and the permanent home for a print. Creatively, it is also one of the most open-ended steps, capable of either elevating or undermining a piece. As the saying goes, bad framing kills great art. The framing options are nearly endless: materials, colors, sizes, depths, glazing.

The choice of frame depends on the type of print and where it will hang. Where will it be displayed? What color are the walls? What else will share the space? What kind of glass does it need—or should there be no glass at all? An artwork never lives in isolation; it is in constant dialogue with its surroundings, and the frame is what facilitates that dialogue. Museums and collectors invest in framing not only for its appearance but also to safeguard a work’s lifespan. For rare or valuable pieces, conservation framing is worth the investment, with museum-grade materials that protect a print for generations.

Today most people settle for thin, industrial metal frames. They are stylish, functional, and draw little attention to themselves. But historically, frames were treated as an art form in their own right—often inseparable from the artwork. That doesn’t mean a print today needs an ornate Rococo frame, but it does mean there is creative potential here. With modern 3D printing, and with skill in wood or metal work, highly sophisticated frames can be made today.

Ready-made frames are often sufficient, but custom framing is a completely different undertaking. A skilled framer blends craftsmanship with design and conservation knowledge, often advising on interior presentation as well as technical protection. Even a quick visit to a local frame shop reveals hundreds of possible custom frames—an easy way to see how different choices might reshape the way a print is perceived.

Example: I rarely ship framed prints. Framing is highly personal and best left to the collector’s own preferences. For personal prints that I hang at home, I often use Nielsen or Halbe premium frames. They are high quality and allow for easy image swapping. The original glass can be replaced with UV-protective acrylic, which also makes the frame lighter. Sometimes I omit glass altogether, letting the print be touched and experienced directly. I’ve also experimented with painting white frames in other colors, using both sprays and markers.

Conclusion

The point of this guide and overview is to give a bit more understanding of the steps involved in printmaking, but also to highlight the difference between photographers who handle every stage themselves and those who do only a few and outsource the rest. In art, the story behind the work is often as important, and sometimes more important than the object itself. If the image alone were what mattered, high-quality reproductions would sell for far more than they do. What we truly value is the connection to the artist. That’s why signed prints, hand-modified works, or editions with COAs (Certificates of Authenticity) command higher value.

There is a big difference between buying a print that has been made and sent by the artist and buying one shipped directly from a fulfilment lab. Knowing that an artist has mastered matting or post-print modification techniques helps explain why such prints cost more than something fresh from the printer. Skills like matting, alternative printing, or hand-finishing require practice, which costs time and money. Each adds an extra layer of uniqueness to a print. But if the market only rewards cheap standard output, there’s little incentive for artists to develop or maintain these skills. The result is a race to the bottom, where the cheapest print wins. This is a real dynamic - the abundance of cheap prints and automated fulfillment has pushed down prices, making it harder for handcrafted or deeply considered prints and artists to compete. This trend helps no one: photographers cannot sustain themselves or refine their skills, and collectors end up with mediocre prints that carry little artistic weight. In such a scenario, the art print competes with a poster as disposable home décor.

This framework can also be applied to other roles to understand value-creating activities in the production chain. A lab, for instance, doesn’t need to engage in image selection—their expertise lies in how best to print what is sent to them. A framer doesn’t need to know the printing process, as their specialization is in matting, framing, and glazing. Each stage has its own craft, and recognizing this helps reveal the full value chain.