Behind The Block Print: The Inspiration Behind Arborglyphs by Craig Mitchell

Every block print begins long before the first line is carved into wood. Behind the Block Print is where I share the true stories behind each image—the places, the moments, and the years of experience that quietly guide my work.

Arborglyphs began way back in the early 1990s, when I was still fairly new to plein air oil painting and working hard to refine my skills. One afternoon, I carried my painting gear to the top of Peavine Mountain, the mountain that rises above Reno on the northwest side.

Very few people ever see Peavine from the top, and I needed to know what was up there.

When I reached the summit, I was rewarded with something I never expected—a small, dreamlike grove of aspen trees, glowing in full autumn color. The trees were backlit from the angle I approached, their trunks edged with pale highlights, their leaves alive with orange and yellow, and violet shadows running through the branches. Behind them stretched a range of Nevada-style mountains, their geometric forms cast in rich blue shadow.

The contrast between the warm trees and the cool mountains was electric. I knew instantly I needed to paint it.

The Hidden Story in the Trees

Before I set up to paint, I walked through the grove—and that’s when I noticed the arborglyphs. These are the carved drawings found on aspen trees across Nevada and much of the Great Basin. When you carve into the soft, whitish bark with a pocket knife, the wound heals with a dark scar, leaving behind bold black marks that last for decades. Most people have seen them, but few know their origin.

Many of these carvings were left by Basque shepherds who worked this land generations ago. On one of the trees, I even made out what appeared to be a date—1931.

That detail stopped me in my tracks. Years earlier, I had spent a semester in the Basque Country of Spain, where similar marks appear in architecture, signage, and infrastructure. That visual language is deeply embedded in their culture. To encounter it again—this time on a mountain overlooking my home in Reno—felt extraordinary.

Here I was, back from Spain, standing on a Nevada mountaintop… and suddenly, I was face to face with the Basque Country again. I knew then that this scene wasn’t just about light and color. It was about history, culture, and personal memory colliding in one place.

The First Painting—and a Failure

I set up and painted for a couple of hours that day. At the time, I thought I had done something special. I worked on a few more studies before heading back to my studio in Reno, eager to pull that one particular painting from my wet carrier. I set it on the counter and stepped back, ready to admire what I believed I had captured. Almost immediately, I realized it was a total failure.

The place I remembered on the mountaintop was intense, luminous, and alive with color. The painting, by comparison, felt dull and lifeless. Today, I understand why. Pigment is limited. The sun is not. No matter how skilled we are, paint can never fully compete with real light.

So I let that little plein air study dry. A few days later, I casually tossed it into a pile in my studio. The pile became another pile. Eventually, it landed in a box in storage. And there it stayed—for more than thirty years.

Thirty Years Later: Seeing It Clearly

Recently, while cleaning and reorganizing, I came across that old painting. When I pulled it out of the box, my reaction was immediate: Why haven’t you ever done anything with this? This is so you. The idea suddenly felt right—finally ready to be understood.

That very day, I began sketching. I explored multiple compositions, different perspectives, searching for the best way to tell the story. I knew I didn’t want the arborglyphs to be obvious from across the room. I wanted the experience to mirror real life: From a distance, you see a beautiful Nevada landscape. Only as you move closer do the carved symbols reveal themselves.

Designing a Scene You Can Walk Into

I structured the final composition so the viewer could visually enter the scene from the right, move among the aspens, and only later discover the arborglyphs on the far side—just as I had. It became a landscape meant to be experienced, not just observed.

To make it work, I carved the image from nine separate wood blocks, each one inked and printed in precise registration. When the final print came together, I knew I had finally told the story the right way.

Artistic Integrity Over Easy Approval

When I released Arborglyphs, I was proud of it. But not every reaction was positive.

Two long-time collectors—at different times, and without knowing one another—said the same thing: “I really like it… but why did you put those drawings on the trees?”

My answer was simple: Because that was my experience. And my experiences are all I have to give. I likely lost a couple of sales because of that choice. But I kept something far more important—my artistic dignity.

What This Print Taught Me

Arborglyphs reinforced something I’ve learned again and again: No time spent observing the world is ever wasted. For decades, I have camped and painted outdoors for weeks at a time, filled journals with sketches and written notes, and recorded color studies, ideas, and half-formed inspirations

Those early efforts continue to feed my work today. What once seemed unresolved can quietly mature for years—sometimes decades—before it reveals its purpose.

It also taught me how difficult it is to judge our own work in the moment. Especially early in an artist’s career, we believe we know what’s good or bad. Often, we don’t. Time is the only true critic that never lies.

Why Arborglyphs Endures

Today, Arborglyphs stands as one of my most personal prints because it holds so many layers:

• A hidden grove on Peavine Mountain

• The legacy of Basque shepherds

• My own history in Spain

• And a lesson that took more than thirty years to fully understand

It's not just a Nevada landscape. It's a record of human presence, memory, and time etched quietly into the natural world.

About the Print

Arborglyphs is a hand-carved, hand-pulled block print created from nine individual wood blocks and printed in small editions in my Reno studio. Each print contains the subtle variations that only original printmaking allows.