I’ve stopped worrying about whether things ‘go’ together – screen printing taught me to trust my eye

Screen printer Hannah Carvell is one of Ideal Home's new Open House contributors, sharing her thoughts on colourful home design for a creative family to live in. See the rest of her articles here.

People often assume that because I spend my days screen printing, I must have some secret formula for putting colours together or an instinct for knowing exactly what works.

The truth is far less glamorous. My studio floor is usually littered with test prints, colour swatches and sheets of paper covered in scribbled notes. I spend an awful lot of time simply trying things to see what happens.

That's probably the greatest lesson screen printing has taught me, and it has very little to do with making art. It's taught me to trust my own eye.

When I first started screen printing, I'd often second guess myself. I'd hold two colours together and wonder whether they were supposed to work. Was that shade of pink too bright? Did mustard really belong next to lilac? Should I be choosing something a little safer?

But the more I printed, the more I realised there wasn't a rule book hidden away somewhere. Sometimes the combinations I was least certain about became my favourites, while the sensible, predictable choices felt rather flat.

I often think my test sheets are the best sheets. They're the ones where I stop trying to get everything right and simply start playing. I'll layer colours I'd never have consciously put together, combinations that, on paper, probably shouldn't work. Yet they're often the ones I love the most. It's taught me that some of the most interesting colour palettes come from letting go of the rules and trusting your instincts instead.

Now I rarely ask whether colours "go" together. Instead, I ask whether they spark some joy (Marie Kondo eat your heart out). If a combination makes me stop in my tracks in the studio, chances are it'll find its way into my home sooner or later too.

I think we can all become a little overwhelmed by trends, paint charts, instagram and all the endless advice telling us what colours we're supposed to have this year. There always seems to be another list explaining what works with what, or which shade has suddenly become outdated. Somewhere along the way it becomes surprisingly easy to stop listening to your own instincts.

My home has never really worked like that. It's a collection of things gathered over time: colourful screen prints leaning on shelves, vintage finds, family photographs, flowers from the garden and treasures found in charity shops and car boot sales. None of it was bought because it matched perfectly. It simply found its place because I loved it.

Working as a printmaker has also taught me that layering is often where the magic happens. In screen printing, each colour is printed one at a time. What looks rather ordinary after the first layer slowly comes to life as the next colours are added. Occasionally I'll peel back the paper after the final print and discover the image is even better than I'd imagined. Other times, I've added one colour too many and realise it was stronger before.

Homes are much the same. The rooms I love the most aren't the ones that were finished in a weekend. They're the ones that have evolved slowly. A chair moved from one room to another. Prints swapped between walls until they find their rightful home. A lamp bought from the local car boot sale. Layers added over months and years rather than days.

Screen printing has also made me much braver about editing. That might sound strange coming from someone who clearly likes collecting things, but editing isn't always about having less. It's about making space for the things you really love.

In the studio I'll often spend hours creating a design only to remove a tiny detail at the very end because the print is stronger without it. I'm forever starting again as a print evolves and I realise I want to take it in a different direction. It's also exactly how the drawers for my twice-yearly sample sale seem to fill up so quickly.

I've learnt to do the same at home. Every now and then I move things around, take a picture down, swap a cushion or quietly admit that something no longer belongs. It isn't because I'm chasing perfection. Quite the opposite. I'm simply making room for the pieces that still make me pause as I walk past.

However much I plan and sketch a print beforehand, it always evolves once I begin printing. Colours change, inks overlap in unexpected ways and new ideas appear halfway through. Perhaps that's why screen printing has taught me to become comfortable with uncertainty.

No matter how carefully I mix my inks, there's always a moment of anticipation when I lift the screen. Sometimes there are happy accidents that are far better than what I'd planned. Occasionally things don't work at all. Either way, I've learnt that creativity is rarely about getting everything right the first time.

Maybe that's why I've stopped worrying whether my home is ever truly finished. For years I thought one day I'd finally arrive at that perfectly decorated house where every picture was hung, every corner complete and every room exactly as I'd imagined. Now I'm not so sure I'd want to.

A home, much like a print, is always evolving. There will always be another season, another idea, another bunch of flowers picked from the garden or another slightly wonky pot to bring home from pottery class. And I rather like that. After all, the most interesting homes aren't the ones that follow every decorating rule. They're the ones that tell the story of the people who live there.

If screen printing has taught me anything, it's that the only opinion that really matters when you're creating a home is your own.