Lino Printing at Trefusis House – A Healing Day of Art Lino Printing
22nd November 2025
I love looking at lino prints online – the clean lines, the bold shapes, the confidence of them. But goodness me, the reality of sitting in front of a block of lino with tools that only go one way… no rubbing out, no undo button… for a perfectionist and someone who is neurodiverse, this is essentially the Olympics of “letting go.”
But that is the medicine, is it not?
Art as surrender.
Art as trust.
Art as a way of letting the world in through another perspective.
For those reasons, when I saw that Lou Tonkins was hosting a Lino Printing Workshop at Trefusis Estate in Flushing, Cornwall, I knew this would be a brilliant opportunity to learn from an experienced artist in this field.
Short Version – A 5-Minute Read
On 22nd November 2025, I took part in a lino printing workshop at Trefusis House in Flushing, led by the talented Cornish printmaker Lou Tonkin. The day was part creative class, part community gathering, and part gentle immersion into the natural beauty of the Trefusis Estate — complete with Jacob sheep, foraged inspiration, and tea around the kitchen table.
I went because I am learning to take more creative risks, to stretch the edges of my comfort zone, and to explore new forms of healing through art. As someone who is neurodiverse, perfectionistic, and occasionally overwhelmed by anything “irreversible,” the idea of carving into a lino block felt both terrifying and transformational. And it truly was.
The workshop was grounding, calming, and unexpectedly meditative. Carving lino required full sensory focus — enough that my mind quietened, my nervous system softened, and I experienced a form of mindfulness I did not have to work for. The day offered connection, curiosity, playfulness, and a beautiful reminder that creativity can be a powerful healing tool.
If you’d like to read the full story — including the garden walk, the candle design I chose, Lou’s guidance, the Victorian book press, the moment the print revealed itself, and what the day taught me about surrender and self-trust — the longer piece continues below.
The Longer Read: A Magical Setting and a Very Cornish Welcome
When I arrived, people were already gathering – not because I was late, but because everyone was keen. Lou Tonkin, the artist leading the workshop, is extremely well-known here in Cornwall. She is a gifted printmaker who draws on the natural world, and her workshops sell out quickly.
Jan welcomed us warmly and started the morning with a short tour of the gardens. By then, the rain had eased, and the estate felt lush and alive. He introduced us to his flock of Jacob sheep – the estate’s “eco-lawnmowers” – and Lou even hand-fed them, which was unexpectedly sweet.
We wandered through the coppiced woodland, newly re-established but rooted in deep local history. Centuries ago, this same woodland supplied timber for the Admiralty. Something was grounding about standing in a place where past and present meet so quietly.
Sketching, Tea, and the Fear of the Blank Block
Back inside, with tea and biscuits in hand, we spread our foraged objects across the kitchen table: pinecones, winter leaves, seed heads. Everyone began sketching.
Except me.
None of the objects felt like what I wanted to carve today. So I took inspiration from a simple candle – a symbol of light, hope, and presence. Something I could manage. Something uncomplicated enough for my first attempt.
Lou began explaining the linocut process, and that’s when I realised just how complex it is. You carve away the negative space. Everything you remove prints white. Everything you leave behind prints black. The image prints backwards. It is the visual equivalent of writing in a mirror.
For most people, that is challenging. For someone dyslexic and neurodiverse, it is a special kind of brain puzzle.
Yet Lou explained it all beautifully. She emphasised safety (always carve away from your hands), pressure, line weight, and the texture of the ink. She demonstrated the tools – an Artina block-printing kit – intuitive, beautifully made, satisfying to hold.
Carving – and Letting Go
Once I committed to the design, something magical happened.
The carving became meditative.
The act of scoring small channels in the lino with both hands required such focus – physical focus, sensory focus – that everything else disappeared. Notifications, worries, and perfectionism… all quietened.
This was mindfulness without effort. Creativity without chaos. My nervous system exhaled.
The Victorian Book Press and the Moment of Reveal
When the time came to print, Lou helped ink my block. Naturally, I had left a few rogue patches uncarved – embarrassing, but she was very kind about it.
She rolled the ink over the block using a proper print roller, waited for the perfect consistency, then placed my card into her glorious Victorian book press. It was a thing of beauty – heavy, elegant, utterly impractical for modern homes, and full of history.
We sandwiched my block between two sheets of bamboo paper, lowered the screw, and pressed.
Then came the moment.
The reveal.
That magical sensation when you lift the paper and see what your hands created. Imperfect, yes. A little rustic. But alive. And absolutely mine.
I finally understood why people fall in love with printmaking. The surprise. The surrender. The wonder.
A Nourishing Lunch and Creative Companionship
Stuart, a British chef and forager, cooked a spectacular lunch: venison pie with a mash topping and braised red cabbage. Comfort food. Cold-weather food. Food that settles you.
We ate around the big kitchen table, with cake and more tea later, all of us glowing from our creative attempts – successes, mishaps, learning moments and all.
Someone introduced me to the Xpress die-cutting machine – a small, portable tool that lets you press prints at home. Unlike sourcing your own Victorian book press (which is unlikely in my life), this was actually achievable. It gave me hope that linocutting could be a part of my life, not just something I tried once.
The Meaning of the Day
By the end of the workshop, I felt genuinely touched by the whole experience:
- the gentle pace
- the focus required
- the grounding texture of the lino
- the permission to play
- the acceptance of imperfections
- the warmth of strangers
- the kindness of Lou’s patient teaching
- and the rare privilege of being inside Trefusis House, a home, not a place, not open to the public, where we were treated as guests.
It was healing.
It was creative.
It was unexpectedly profound.
And as someone learning to balance health, vulnerability, creativity, and courage… I needed this day more than I realised.
If anyone wants to join future workshops…
Keep an eye on:
- Lou Tonkin – Printmaker (Instagram: @loutonkin)
- Trefusis Estate, (Instagram: @Trefusisestate)
These workshops book up fast, and with good reason. They are soulful, grounding, and beautifully curated days. The day I had my first experience of lino cutting and lino printing is one I won’t forget.
