Ah, ha. I did it! Today I bought a press. A Vandercook 317 . As you can see from the photo, there is a lot of work to do. Luckily my boss at The Mandate Press finds great joy in fixing presses up and has volunteered to help me. I can't wait!! I own a press, look at me, does that make me grown up yet?
Guess what friends, that means you all have a source for custom note cards, Christmas cards, birth announcements, and invitations for the rest of your life. Isn't that cause for joy? I think so.
Not to brag, ok, it really is blatant bragging, but at the Mandate, I am known for my keen ability to mix color. This will come in handy. I won't have to buy a ton of ink colors, I can do some skillful mixing. I love ink, I love paper, I love machinery, I love my new press, the 317!
8 comments:
Thrilling! Of all people, YOU should own a press. Call it fate, or poetic justice, or life in balance. Congratulations!
I'm exceedingly envious, and I think this most definitely makes you an official grownup. Can I come watch you operate it once it's up and running? I too have a love for paper and ink, but not a very productive love like yours is. (And as we are oft told, love is a verb, so I guess I can't call mine love at all? Hmph.) I was a model bookbinding student, however, so maybe one day when the universe runs out of cute-but-useless blank books, I can come to the rescue... :)
Will the press live in the kitchen on your decoupaged work table? It looks big.
Apple slice,
I love the new photo. It's as dreamy as you.
I can't wait to make you letterpress treats.
Marie,
It is too large and weighs close to 2,000 lbs. I could never get it into my apartment. I will be working on it at The Mandate Press. After completion or they get sick of it being around, I will move it to my momma's. She has always wanted to have an artist's studio. We have a kiln, loom, etc. and now we will have a press.
Trying to find a bright side, we thought it was an automatic inking style, it isn't. but on the bright side it means when the apocolypse comes and there is no electricity, I can still print.
I estimate that I'll finally be getting married during the Apocalypse (roughly then, maybe a bit after), so that will work out perfectly. I'll pay you for the hand-inked wedding invitations with a few cans of my dry-pack oats and pinto beans.
I still want to come watch you work sometime. I can be very quiet.
I love that your mother has a loom and a kiln.
I will clothe the man, with the loom. You are brave to have big machines. I am aiming for a staple gun by year's end.
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