The cultural history and heritage of block printing is far more expansive—and enchanting—than I first imagined. What began as a simple inquiry for a single blog post soon opened my eyes to the vast and layered mythos, lore, and legacy of block printing: a soul-woven tradition where carved wood and pressed ink became sacred vessels for wisdom, spiritual protection, and cultural transmission across centuries and continents. Block printing’s mystique, its original devotional function as a keeper of sacred texts, divine myths and holy parables, and its profound role in shaping spiritual life throughout Asia - where it originated -reveals a tapestry so rich it calls for its own thread in my storytelling. So this post marks the beginning of a new series of blog posts centered around the mystical, material, and medial life of block printing. I hope you’ll wander the inked trail with me. . . a quiet pilgrimage through time where each step along the inked path reawakens old truths and forgotten magic.
It was during the Tang dynasty (618–907 CE) in China that block printing first found breath and purpose, born to carry the sacred words of the Buddha—sutras and dhāraṇī, whispered spells of protection and light—pressed into paper like blessings etched in time. These sacred scrolls were more than written words; they were talismanic objects, often enshrined in temples or buried in stupas to guard both people and place. One early example, the “Great Spell of Unsullied Pure Light,” printed between 650–670 CE, was discovered in a tomb in Xi’an—a small yet powerful relic of devotion.
The image depicts the frontispiece to the world's earliest dated printed book, the Chinese translation of the Buddhist text the 'Diamond Sutra' which explains how to cultivate prajñā (wisdom), the "diamond" that cuts through illusion by practicing generosity and compassion without attachment to self or results, ultimately leading to liberation from suffering. It consists of a scroll, over 16 feet long, made up of a long series of printed pages. Printed in China in 868 AD, it was found in the Dunhuang Caves in 1907, in the North Western province of Gansu. Photo Credit: Wikipedia Commons.
As the practice spread, other neighboring cultures adopted it also with spiritual intent. In 8th-century Japan, Empress Shōtoku commissioned the printing of one million dhāraṇī scrolls, each placed within a tiny wooden pagoda to protect the realm during times of unrest. In Vietnam to the south, block printing flourished under monk Pháp Loa, who led the reproduction of the Tripiṭaka between 1295 and 1319. Stories tell of devotees mixing their blood with ink—a striking gesture of sacrifice and faith. The Đông Hồ woodcut tradition also emerged here, where local folklore and animistic beliefs, wisdom stories, folktales and scenes of ordinary country folk were block printed onto rice paper—bridging Buddhist devotion and everyday folk life.
Above: Carving tools and a woodblock at a Đông Hồ folk art blockprinting shop, Vietnam, which carries on this local tradition that dates back to the 11th century. Vietnamese Đông Hồ block prints depict local folklore, moral fables and scenes from the everyday life of ordinary country folk and are made with natural materials like tree bark, sea shells and natural pigments. See below for an example of a Đông Hồ block print of a local new year festival. Photo credit: Shutterstock.
Thailand’s gift to this sacred craft arrived later, woven deeply into the region’s living Buddhist manuscript traditions. Though early spiritual teachings were traditionally hand-copied onto palm leaves, the 19th-century printing of the Pāli Tipiṭaka—treasured scrolls of Theravada Buddhist wisdom—under King Rama I became a monumental spiritual act. More than mere scholarship, it was a ceremony of devotion which involved the participation of a thousand monks, and marked a shift toward block printing as a ritual act of transmission and reverence.
What unites all these examples is their shared understanding: block printing was not simply a tool of reproduction. It was a sacred vessel. These printed texts were not merely read; they were held, enshrined, and chanted. They became bridges between the human and the divine—objects of devotion, carriers of protection, and vessels of memory and belonging, reinforcing an enchantment with and voiced a recognition of the wisdom of the natural world.
A hand colored woodblock print of the Jūsambutsu-Mandala (Mandala of the Thirteen Buddhas), Muromachi period Japan 1336-1598. Photo credit: Wikipedia Commons.
The birth of block printing is where story and craft meet in sacred rhythm. Story is the yin: fluid, living, carried by voice and breath. Craft is the yang: deliberate, grounded, shaped by patient hands. Like lovers whose differences complete each other, they move in sacred tandem—a living current of spiritual truth passed hand to hand, heart to heart each reinforcing the other’s sacred intent. One is shaped from earth’s raw elements, the other from the sacred currents of timeless tale and together, they call the ancient voices back to the hearth through ink and image.
As a linocut printmaker working mostly in single colors, this act of tending to the balance between what is carved away and what remains, between light and dark, is at the heart of printmaking design. This balance mirrors the yin and yang of story and craft, echoing the ancient Taoist understanding that true wisdom arises from the dance of opposites—where visual form and deeper philosophical meaning move together, each reinforcing the other. I’m deeply moved by how this ancient truth—that harmony is born through the dance of opposites—has been preciously safeguarded in the ritual of printmaking itself. Passed from hand to hand through the steady hands of printmakers, I feel honored to be part of that living lineage.
Here are photos showing the carving, printing, and design process behind The Weaver linocut. I intentionally played with printmaking’s signature interplay of positive and negative space to echo the essence of Yin and Yang. The moon phases and drifting white dandelion seeds reflect the light within the dark, while the crows and tangled botanicals in the old woman’s white hair evoke the dark within the light. Crow feather earrings and her placement within the "cave" of the crow further weave together the folktale’s deeper message: that creation and destruction are not opposites, but intertwined—each feeding the life of the other.
Although I'll explore this more in forthcoming blog posts, it's important to mention here at the start that block printing also served as a subtle form of resistance. In 13th-century Korea, for example, when the Mongols destroyed the first Tripiṭaka, a second version was painstakingly recarved from woodblocks—over 80,000 of them—in an act of spiritual defiance and national protection. In Tibet, after the 1959 Chinese invasion, exiled monks and laypeople recreated sacred texts from memory, printing them using makeshift materials. These were not simply books; they were acts of survival, of faith, of remembering. And in Japan, the mass production of dhāraṇī charms in the 8th century responded not only to devotion, but to political upheaval—using printed prayers as a stabilizing force for a fractured realm. And in Vietnam, Đông Hồ Village used to be the center of politics and culture of Northern Vietnam, and Đông Hồ block prints were a medium used to subtly express social, political, and cultural criticism including anti-colonial ideas during French colonial occupation.
These stories whisper of block printing’s enduring role—not only as a vessel of spiritual wisdom, but as a shield of resilience and a song of defiance. Centuries after its sacred beginnings, block printing journeyed along the Silk Road, eventually helping to place the power of the written word into the hands of ordinary people—awakening a quiet revolution where knowledge, once reserved for the elite, became a tool of resistance against oppressive forces.
For me, carving an ancient tale into ink and paper is not only a continuation of the sacred bond between storytelling, sacred wisdom and block printing that first birthed this art form—it’s a vital act of remembrance. In each print, I honor an old rhythm where craft and devotional myth move as one, and where creation becomes both offering and invocation. This union of opposites—form and fluidity, light and shadow, voice and silence—is more than aesthetic; it is an ancient archetype, a living wisdom that teaches us how to hold tension without collapsing into division. In a world increasingly fractured by black-and-white thinking, this practice becomes an act of resistance and renewal. The printmaker’s sacred ritual of balancing what is carved away with what remains—shaping story from absence and form—is a way of tending the medial thread held by the Old Weaver as she works the loom between cauldron and crow.. In everyday life we, too, are called to hold that thread—if we are to step wisely into the next turning of the great tale.
This is Old Story Medicine, rising again—inked and alive.
More related blog posts
A linocut print is a kind of relief print, similar to a woodblock print. A design is hand-carved out of artist’s linoleum which is then rolled with ink, paper is hand-pressed on top to reveal the final art print. The effect is an image that is both bold and simple, making a perfect medium for conveying classic, timeless themes and beloved folktale characters.