Letterpress... 

...is the original form of mass communication. The Internet of 1439. Devised by Johannes Gutenberg in Germany, it reigned supreme for over 500 years before modern communication rendered it commercially redundant.

Until now.

Modern letterpress is a simple and elegant process of type and paper, ink and pressure. But the secret to beautiful print is the nuance of combining these elements to create poetry on paper.


Doors

Doors

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A few years ago, a man rang the doorbell of Little Gold Studios asking to speak to Gertrude.

My memory won’t relinquish a few of the details; whether it was Summer or Winter, or whether the man was German or Dutch (I’m almost certain he wasn’t French). I remember only that he was tall and rather eccentric. He was traveling the world with a small set of lead type, calling in at various printmaking establishments to create a series of letterpress prints. He had asked if he could please come in and print a piece of his art.

I said: sure! And I set him up on one of my desktop Adanas. Away he went.

He was laser-focused on the project and very particular about everything. It took him the whole day for him to create just one print and as 3pm rolled around, I couldn’t bring myself to kick him out now that he had finally inked up, but I could see I was going to miss the school pick-up. So I organised some last-minute After School Care, but as it approached 6pm I started getting nervous and had to get serious with him about wrapping things up and moving on. While I am pathologically patient, After School Care pick-up times are non-negotiable and I hadn’t got a lot of my own work done that day because I had one eye on supervising his project.

So as I waved goodbye to the German or Dutchman (probably not Frenchman), and sped off to my motherly duties, I was disappointed that a lovely experience ended with me feeling so stressed and annoyed at myself. Why do I agree so blindly to these things? Why don’t I set better boundaries? Whyyyyy do I never see what could go wrong, only some blurry vision of what could go right?

I didn’t notice for at least a week afterwards the little print he pinned to the top of the doorframe as he left.

The random mid-word capital M is for Melbourne.

The leaf pressed into the back is Eucalyptus.

The French roughly translates to: “The second it closes, the door is nostalgic for all the seconds before.”

And I realised why I say yes, without question, to blurry things.

Something Old

Something Old

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