Letterpress Class - Beyond Beginner

In a town like Portland, rich with letterpress classes and top-notch places to learn to set type and make your first impressions, such as Oregon College of Art and Craft, Em Space Book Arts Center, and the IPRC, there are ample opportunities to take a beginning, or introductory level letterpress classes.

Finding a class that takes you a little farther than just "beginner" is a bit tougher. There are great classes available at all of the above mentioned places, but they're simply offered less frequently. That's why I think it's always a great time to jump on an intermediate level letterpress class.

Can you guess that this is a self-plug? There's still room in my upcoming Intermediate Letterpress class starting March 10. It's a five week class - just the right amount of time to get your hands dirty learning some new skills.

Visit OCAC's website - www.ocac.edu, or click here for the direct link to the studio school page to sign up. You can also click here for a full description of the class.

Half Price Cuts on Tuesdays, Free Mai Tais All Day Saturday

Waaaaaay back in December I showed a preview of a print I was working on of a mobile home with dueling hair cutting shears floating above it. I'm kind of ashamed to say it's taken me this long to finish it.

The trouble was, I got to a point where I didn't know what exactly it need to be finished. Typically I plan my work in advance, I just feel better that way. I try to sketch the entire layout, however roughly, so I know basically how the various elements will play together on the page. Yup, I'm a planner. I'm meticulous, and well, tedious.

But in this case, I was in a hurry to get something down in print in order to make the deadline for the OCAC Print Portfolio exchange. As it was, I barely slipped under the radar, and the print I included in the exchange felt unfinished to me.

Another element to the story of this print, is that it comes from a very specific point of inspiration. Let me tell you a story.

Several years ago I worked for the City of Portland Archives and Records Center. My job there was utterly unglamorous. For up to eight hours a day I sat in between a computer and a microfilm reader transcribing, one ordinance number at a time, the entire Portland City Council Calendar. Day by day, year by year, starting from the middle of the 1950s and working toward the present day, I entered data so that one day, all of Portland's city council agenda would be online.

The ordinances from the 1950s were ordinary enough. Lots of street improvements and rights-of-way issues, the usual civic stuff. But something subtly shifted when I finished the '50s and began entering the records of the 1960s. Easements and sewers were still dealt with, but a new element began creeping into the record more often - that of the ordinary citizen - requesting permits, filing claims, demanding monetary reimbursement, that type of thing.

To break up the tedium of my day, I kept a little notebook at my desk and would sometimes doodle during breaks. The notebook came in handy when I began noticing that not only were some of the ordinances involving more and more of the citizenry, they started becoming funny, and quirky, and sometimes downright weird. So, did I copy some of those down for my own personal enjoyment? You bet'cha!

The more quirky ordinances I collected, the more the idea grew in my mind that I would one day create a project around them. The exact shape and form of that project has never become really apparent to me. Maybe one day it will all come together. In the meantime, I thought I'd start with this print.

What inspired me was the fascinating intersection between civic policy and citizenry, and during the 1960s and 1970s the city record began reflecting a more colorful characterization of the city. I was offered a tiny glimpse into ordinary people's lives through public record.

This print is being offered in a limited edition of 23, #1-11 are printed on tan paper, and #12-23 printed on grey. The illustration is linocut, and the text is handset in Caslon Openface 14 pt and Deepdene 12 pt. They measure 11" x 14 " and are signed and numbered on the back of the print.

The text reads: "Ordinance No. 134577 5/18/1972 Granting a revocable permit to Ronald R., Mary E., and Jo Ann to continue a beauty shop in a trailer at Portland Mobile Home Court at 9000 Union Avenue."

Note: I made the decision to omit the particular individuals' last names. Although these are public records, and anybody can access them, I felt a little reluctant to "call out" individuals whom I don't know.

Also: The title of this post "Half Price Cuts on Tuesdays, Free Mai Tais All Day Saturday" is an idea I've been kicking around for a title for this print.

Available in my Etsy Ephemera shop very, very shortly!

Of a Sharp-Shinned Hawk, Needle & Thread

Open Sky

A poem by Allison Dubinsky

is now available to purchase

here.

Measuring a little over a palm's width, reading this, holding it in your hands is an intimate experience.

The themes of the narrative weave in and out of each other in this poem, and are reflected subtly in the book's structure; the black thread sewn along the spine, the leaves of the pages unfolding outward, the wood type beckoning you to "open."

All of the text was handset in Bembo 11/12 pt., Bernhard Gothic medium 10 pt., and 12 and 10 line gothic wood type. The illustration is one of the author's, and was printed from a photopolymer plate.

It was such a pleasure to work on this book. Thank you, Allison, for entrusting me with your words.

The ancient Greeks placed the seat of thought in the heart, hence the expression "know by heart." It implies a deeper knowing, perhaps so deeply learned that the mind forgets that it knows but may simply pluck the knowledge from the heart whenever it may.

If the heart allows.

Dear Valentine's Day reader, what does your heart know? To what does it allow you access? To what does it bar the way?

A Study in Black & Silver

In a few days, Open Sky, written by Portland poet Allison Dubinsky, will be ready to debut. Today, I offer a little preview: I loved the way these black covers looked, lined up on my workbench, their silver adornments glistening in the ever-so-rare Portland mid-winter sun.