9.30.2010

the smell of oil and ink, the sound of a humming press

Early last spring I mentioned I had begun two collaborations with two local poets - helping in the design process and doing the printing of their respective book projects.

As the case is many times, these projects develop entirely on their own timeline. Sometimes a month or two will go by while we let ideas sit and germinate after a crucial step. For both of the women I am working with, the work itself has been written and lived with for many years already - there is no hurry to crash through the process of creating this object to hold.


In the past few weeks, I've been plugging away, for an hour or so here and there, at setting type for Open Sky, a poem by Allison Dubinsky. Paper was decided upon, ordered and cut to size. A polymer plate was made from one of the author's drawings, and the press was finally inked up to begin printing the cover.


I invited A. over yesterday to take a look at her poem, set and tied up, and to approve the placement of the text and image on the cover paper. I practically jumped up and down with happiness over how well the silver lays on the black paper.


I wanted to offer A. the chance to run a few covers through the press, since she had never had the opportunity to use a Vandercook. After a few impressions were made and with a little ink adjustment we got chatting about printing, fantasizing about a giant barn full of printing equipment, and other stuff...and on and on...and then, she had finished printing all 100 covers!


At some point I'd like to try to articulate how inspiring these collaborations are for me, and also how awesome it was to have A. take to printing like she'd been doing it all her life. Someday I'll get around to telling you. ..

9.29.2010

the long view


I've been doing a lot of posting of imagery, few words...


I promise to return with some posts of substance, some heft, some weighty thoughts and ideas (really?) But my boots are still just barely touching the ground after a dearly needed trip to the desert.


The Alvord Desert and the surrounding sage covered range is a place that defies words.




Crackling heat, dust, white playa.


Magpies, jack rabbits, coyotes, crickets, lizards, snakes...

HOT SPRINGS...


Micro and macro, light and shadow.



I stepped out of the desert into the swampy night of Portland's most humid day, returning in the middle of the night. After a sunburnt day at Oregon College of Art and Craft, I slipped back into my own studio today to print a project I can't wait to show you, in silver ink; that distinctive metallic smell still stuck in my nose, mingling with the lingering volcanic dust from the camping gear still stowed by the back door, unpacked.

But that can wait until tomorrow. Goodnight for now...

9.24.2010

"There are those days which seem a taking in of breath which, held, suspends the whole earth in its waiting. Some summers refuse to end.

So along the road those flowers spread that, when touched, give down a shower of autumn rust. By every path it looks as if a ruined circus had passed and loosed a trail of ancient iron at every turning of a wheel. The rust was laid out everywhere, strewn under trees and by riverbanks and near the tracks themselves where once a locomotive had gone but went no more. So flowered flakes and railroad track together turned to moulderings upon the rim of autumn."
Farewell Summer, Ray Bradbury