Start the presses!

WEEK 21

In the alternate reality of my weekend morning half-dream state, I imagine myself in new and entirely impractical vocations: I’m a mountaineer, polar explorer, structural engineer, travel writer, freestyle skier, even a cartographer, because who wouldn’t want that job title?

Those will have to wait for a future life. This week I get to be a print-maker for a day.

I’ve always loved the feel of paper, especially nubby fibrous stock that soaks up ink like paper towels. And antique printing presses are so sexy, with their cast iron bases and giant mechanical arms that go “thunk” into place, all tactile sensation and feedback.

So for this week’s first, I made my way to South Street Seaport to learn how to work a letterpress. Walking from my apartment I had a spring in my step, which sounds completely silly, except that during these past five months of trying new things, I’ve felt anxious from time to time. This adventure I knew I’d love.

I learned – with much admiration – that my destination, Bowne Printers (aka Bowne & Co), was the oldest publicly traded company in the US until it was acquired in 2010. And if that’s not enough, the print shop itself (now part of the Seaport Museum) is considered the oldest continuously running business in New York City, practicing letterpress for more than 250 years.

At its zenith in the late 19^th century, Bowne employed more than 8,000 people working their presses. Today, my instructor is one of two designers who keep the place humming, making sure each of the antique presses is operated at least once a week.

Here’s how it went down:

I touched historic presses, including a hand-operated iron Washington Press that had been fabricated just a few blocks away in the early 1800s. I designed my own personalized notecards and learned how to hand-set vintage lead type (they have hundreds and hundreds). I proofed my design on an antique Vandercook cylinder press. I mixed my own ink. I operated a 19^th century table-top press to print my run of stationery, and I even cleaned the press with a special solvent.

Now for the details:

Class started with a bit of history. Letterpress itself is a technique of relief printing, essentially meaning that copies are made by repeated direct impression of an inked, raised surface. The printer places piece of movable type – which is itself individually cast – into a “chase,” inks it, places the paper in the press, moves the lever arm and voila. This is printing from Gutenberg in the mid-15^th century all the way until the second half of the 20^th century. It takes a while to wrap your head around the fact that this process has remained largely unchanged for hundreds and hundreds of years. I doubt anything in our world today will be this lasting.

We started the project by designing our own stationery. Our instructor had set out several giant trays of type – essentially miniscule lead letters arranged in small compartments with an alphabet key to find what you need.

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We then set our type along with graphic elements in a composing stick from left to right, but with the type and elements upside down. To arrange the letters correctly, you felt for small notches in the type. We also had to put spacers between and around words to get the right leading between lines, so we learned about pica and points. Think about miniscule metal slivers that function as shims to make space. Seriously, for hundreds of years, people set type like this, letter by letter and line by line.

Once we had our compositions done, we moved them into the chase, essentially a metal frame that holds the elements in place – a single unit that is then carried to the press without falling apart.

Setting the chase was extremely complex, and our instructor did most of the hands-on work. Even he had to trouble shoot numerous times to measure and find the right spacers and expanders to lock the letters into place. But once the chase is set it’s indestructible and can be moved between presses with abandon.

Next we mixed our own colors for the ink. This was more like kindergarten class, using a spatula to mix reds and blues to get the shade of purple I wanted from the Pantone book.

The printing it turns out is the easy part. We inked the presses, using the spatula to paint an X on the round printing plate then running the rollers across it, watching them absorb the color. With the chase now in place, we took some scratch paper and did a “make-ready,” tweaking the placement until it was right. Finally, the press was ready, and I pulled down on the handle and piece by piece, made 25 copies of my personalized stationery.

When I think back on the experience, I felt instantly calm being in the space and with the antique presses. It is precise work. Human work. Hands are absolutely required. I couldn’t get over the fact that the tiny lead letters and blocks of graphic elements were themselves all created by hand. Perfectly precise. And lasting.

I often feel overwhelmed by the disposable and fleeting ethos of our world today. This shop is a reminder of the joy that comes from touching something that has endured. These presses are here for the ages.

P.S. Here’s my notecard. A custom Irena & Jayme “mark” that was very complicated to space correctly. Our wedding year in roman numerals.

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