Michael Souter and the Art of Blocking

There’s something about Michael Souter’s work that feels like a beautifully orchestrated interruption. Take, for instance, his collection that reimagines vintage zoology illustrations—charming, detailed depictions of birds straight from the pages of an old field guide. And then he does what some might consider a crime: he covers them. Blocks them out. Wipes sections clean with washes of black ink or muted grays. But in doing so, he creates something entirely his own—honestly, it’s a bit of a revelation.

At first glance, you might think, Isn’t this art appropriation? And you wouldn’t be wrong. But Michael reinvents these illustrations. By partially obscuring the original images, he creates a tension between what’s visible and what’s hidden. His blocking techniques—whether bold swathes of black or delicate, layered washes—elevate the birds. The drama comes from what’s missing, from what your brain instinctively tries to fill in. The result is far more evocative than a straightforward rendering of a bird perched on a tree branch could ever be.

These works showcase Michael’s rich visual language at its best. He’s a master of contrast—not just between light and dark but also between what’s revealed and what’s concealed. He knows exactly when to push back and when to let an image breathe. His washes of black ink, jagged brushstrokes, and sharp edges that slice through the page all heighten the drama. And yet, he never overcomplicates things.

Look closer, and you’ll see the brilliance of his use of negative space. The vintage birds peeking through his heavy washes feel more poignant, surrounded by emptiness. The space becomes as significant as the marks themselves. There’s a tension in these works, as if the birds are caught mid-escape—frozen between presence and absence.

The layering in his work also deserves attention. Subtle textures peek through the washes: hints of faded lines and colors bleeding through. It’s as if the original images are fighting to be seen, their fragile beauty pressing against Michael’s darker interventions. That balance between preservation and destruction is where the magic happens.

In many ways, this series feels like a metaphor for Michael himself. He values simplicity, but there’s always something more complicated lurking beneath the surface. What seems minimal at first glance is actually rich with nuance. That’s what makes his work so powerful—and what, over the years, has made me appreciate abstraction as a form of storytelling.

There’s a quiet melancholy to this series—a mix of loss and a sharp awareness of beauty. The birds, so delicately rendered decades ago by an unknown hand, now feel like ghosts—fragments of something we can’t quite grasp. And yet, these pieces don’t feel bleak. They pull you in. Michael’s gift lies in his ability to evoke so much with so little.

During the years we worked together (we were business partners for a few years), I learned that minimalism isn’t about removing for the sake of removing. It’s about clearing out the noise to focus on what truly matters. Michael’s work embodies that principle. By blocking out parts of these vintage images, he forces us to see what remains. The birds become more than birds. The spaces become more than empty.