We’ve had just about the most perfect spring here this year—with weather so unseasonably sunny, for weeks on end, that it simply would be criminal not to get outside for every second one can. On days like this, work can wait awhile—and the camera moves to the front burner. When the sun is shining here, a perfect moment is never hard to find.
It’s that time of year again: the trees are blooming outside, and inside we’re playing with knives. The ninth (!) annual Tacoma Wayzgoose is one week from today—and if we’re really lucky, Jessica and I might just finish carving our design by then. As usual, we’ll reveal the whole design that day, but until then, this little peek might look familiar…
If you’re new to my tiny u-bend of the Intertubes, you might ask: what the heck is a Wayzgoose? It’s a festival celebrating the art of printing, a tradition that goes back hundreds of years. Here in T-town, our party mobile is a steamroller—yes, ma’am—and we churn out giant-sized linocuts in the street to mark the occasion. If you’re local, come on by and get ink on your jeans:
9th Annual Tacoma Wayzgoose
Sunday, April 28, 2013
11 am to 4 pm, Free!
King’s Books
218 St. Helens Avenue, Tacoma, WA
In the meantime, you can whet your appetite with a stroll down Amnesia Lane—take a look at the ghosts of Wayzgeese past:
• 2009 (Tacoma)
• 2010 (Tacoma)
• 2011 (Tacoma)
• 2011 (San Francisco)
• 2012 (Tacoma)
See you next week, rain or shine!
Today is my fourth anniversary of living in lovely T-town. And all I can think of is: A) I can’t believe it’s been four years already—
and B) I still can’t believe I live in a place where artichokes will grow happily in the front yard.
I love this place.
Since they tell me a picture’s worth a bucket of words:
Thank you, everyone!
Just takin’ a little break for a Wayzgoose recap … back with more road trip (of doom!) adventures later this week.
Oh, man. I’m beat. You people plum wore me out this time. Every year I keep thinking we can’t possibly top the previous year, but Wayzgoose just keeps getting better and better. And this year, the weather was so unbelievably good* that I think half of Tacoma (plus a good portion of Seattle and a smattering of Portland) put on their walking shoes and marched into our midst.
To put it another way: it was absolute crazy sauce.
Or maybe it was just that the word is fully out now about our little printers’ party. After all, the Volcano said, “There are otherwise button-down, Wonder-bread, vanilla South Sounders who lose their ever-lovin’ shizz over Wayzgoose.” Amen, bros.
Big thanks to everyone who showed up to the party (even if I didn’t get a chance to thank you in person); to the Tacoma Arts Commission for being our fairy godparents; to the small army of adorable volunteers who kept everything chuggin’ along; to Rosemary Ponnekanti at the News Tribune for the write-up; to Kyle Durrie for making an appearance in her travelin’ Type Truck; and to sweet pea Flaherty and Jessica Spring for making it all happen.
Speaking of Jessica, I think I laid eyes on her all of twice, all day. She was scurrying around and herding cats outside, while I was camped behind a steady stream of folks at our adjacent tables (thanks, y’all!). There wasn’t even room to sneak a hip shot of how many people were shoehorned in there, so the only photos I could snag were right at the beginning before folks showed up, or at the end, when people finally started to clear out.
I know this doesn’t look like a big crowd, but trust me—it was a total sardine can in there. (Or clown car, if you prefer circus metaphors. I know I do.) But when the room is packed with all your favorite Northwesterners, it’s a win-win.
Among the talented regulars was my lovely friend Keegan,
and of course, Atticus, who frequently thinks he’s a pirate parrot. Yarr!
There was also a very special newcomer this year. Remember my former student Sara? Well, she caught the letterpress bug, and caught it bad. In less than three years since she took my class, she and her husband Brad (pictured) have gone from newbie nestlings to fully-fledged, successful business owners. (And they’re not the only ones!) Sigh. My kids are all grown up and making a hand-printed ruckus! It does my heart good.
Outside, spring was in full bloom at the L’Arche booth,
and the steamroller prints were better than ever. (Special shout-out to Audra Laymon for her goatey Blueberry Park print! I think a hundred people heard me squeal when I saw it.)
Jessica and I decided to sit out the steamroller this year to make room for a few new folks, and that turned out to be a smart move. Just standing at my table for six+ hours hobbled me like an arthritic old woman—I don’t think my knee was up to printing. My only regret was not being able to witness much of the spectacle this year.
I did sneak outside long enough to learn that Tacoma’s own Arts Commissioners had been pressed into service (heckuva job, Scott!)—
and that the print quality was the tastiest it’s ever been, thanks to some tweaked techniques Jessica gleaned from our day in San Francisco last fall.
Attendance reached a new record this year—I think we’re an official Tacoma institution now. Mr. sweet pea says the count of men, women, children, babies and beasties approached the 1,000 mark!
R.J. says: Word to your mother.
This is part three of the Epic Road Trip series. If you missed the previous posts, you can find the whole saga here.
This day was all about the journey, rather than the destination. It was the kind of day that put the “road” in “road trip.”
Like when a bear crossed the road (presumably to get to the other side), directly in front of our car. And we all—myself, Tailor, and bear—shrieked in alarm as we narrowly avoided disaster. At least we didn’t end up like Tommy Boy and that deer.
Right. Anyway, the whole reason we crossed the continent via the Trans Canada Highway, as opposed to zooming down some Interstate freeway, was to take a little extra time to enjoy the journey. Besides, our travels gave us a lovely and broad sampling of what Canada has to offer—we were treated to art museums, historic architecture, incredible restaurants, live music, friendly folks, and natural beauty. Still, while I soaked in as much Canadian culture as I could, I also had a craving for something a little more…lowbrow. This was a road trip, after all, and more than anything else, I associate road trips with roadside kitsch.
I’m just as likely to get excited over a roadside attraction as a national park. (I’m not even going to think about what that says about me.) I will happily travel hours out of the way to see such things as:
• giant animals, vegetables, dinosaurs, or mythical creatures
• Wall Drug (where the heck is it? Fifty miles east of where I was born, that’s where.)
• animatronic dioramas (there’s a really creepy Gold Rush one at Wall Drug)
• world wonders recreated out of things like cars or tractors
• two-story mosaics made out of corn
• really absurd, anthropomorphized taxidermy
• buildings shaped like food
• Paul Bunyan statues
• any random object that claims to be the world’s largest
I know. Classy, right?
But hey—at least giant fiberglass animals don’t dart out in front of moving vehicles. One can enjoy them at leisure, without risking one’s life.
Anyway, the U.S.—especially the western half—is a treasure trove of things like these, and I like to think of myself as … I dunno. A connoisseur? Collector? Curator? Whatever. I like ‘em.
I wasn’t sure what I might find north of the 49th Parallel, however. So over dinner last spring I posed the question to a Vancouverite, and he came to the rescue with a list of recommendations. Many thanks (and maybe a bit of the blame) to Paul Razzell for making this post possible.
At the end of our crazy midnight trek around Lake Superior, we stayed in a motel in Wawa, Ontario. The name Wawa is derived from the Ojibwa word for “wild goose.”
So it’s no surprise that Wawa has a 27-foot goose standing ready to welcome you to the town.
They didn’t just stop at one, though.
There are three giant geese in Wawa, which of course I hunted down—talk about a wild goose chase. These fellas induced all kinds of gleeful cackling on my part (and eye rolling on the part of the Tailor).
Down the road, Sault Ste. Marie gave us a little reminder of Moose Jaw, but it was the little town of Blind River that provided the biggest adventure that day.
We’d read about a Paul Bunyan statue there (complete with blue Babe), but a quick search of the main road turned up nothing. So when we stopped to buy petrol and a newspaper, the Tailor took a chance and asked the young clerk about it. Thankfully, she was on the same wavelength about the utter coolness of Paul Bunyan statues, and provided a wealth of enthusiastic information.
She said the statues had been split up and sold. Babe’s whereabouts were a mystery, but Paul now belonged to an area resident. She gave us complicated directions through the wooded back roads, and wished us happy hunting.
Just as we began to think we’d misheard the gal’s instructions, we turned a corner and there he was—demoted to outlandish lawn ornament. Poor Paul.
To be honest, I thought he looked a little more like Louis Riel than everyone’s favorite lumberjack, but still—we found our Canadian Paul Bunyan. We’d braved the wilds of Ontario and come out victorious.
Mission accomplished—it was a good day. To celebrate our success, we capped the event with a big plate of the ultimate Canuck road food.
And now I have just one question: is there a giant poutine statue somewhere in Canada? If there is, tell me where to find it, and I am so there.
When Jessica and I were in North Carolina last summer, we had just enough sightseeing time to squeeze in a short trip along the aptly-named Blue Ridge Parkway.
Between the dappled sunlight,
the lush Southern greenery,
and the unexpected splashes of color,
we were enchanted in an instant.
(I, for one, was tempted to do a little Katniss Everdeen impression—just run away from it all and head for the hills.)
It wasn’t hard to imagine sitting down and breaking out the paper and paints, with all that blue haze as inspiration.
Photo from Wikipedia
The folks at the nearby Penland School of Craft certainly agree. Since Lucy Morgan founded it in 1929, Penland has become a national center for craft education. Widely respected for its preservation of handcraft traditions, Penland is centered on total-immersion study and both traditional and experimental techniques. Settled in a quiet pocket of the Blue Ridge Mountains, it’s an inspiring setting for focused work. Thanks to its reputation and location, the school attracts some of the country’s best artists and fine craftspeople to study and teach in the Penland studios.
So you can imagine how thrilled and honored Jessica and I were when they asked us to come and teach a letterpress workshop there this summer.
We’ll be teaching a one-week printing intensive, and doing our very best to turn the printshop upside down. This ain’t your grandpa’s letterpress. Here are the details:
A printmaking intensive with Chandler O’Leary and Jessica Spring
Penland School of Crafts, Penland, NC
Summer Session 7: Aug. 26 to Sept. 1, 2012 (scroll down the listings to find our class)
In the class, we’ll work with both hand-set type (don’t worry, we won’t monkey with any linotype machines…) and photopolymer plates to produce editioned prints that combine the two techniques.
We’re going to get pretty technical, pretty fast, but don’t worry—the workshop is open to all levels of experience. That way we can bring letterpress newbies up to speed quickly, and give more experienced printers the chance to go nuts and geek out with us.
Unnatural Light by Jessica Spring
You’ll be doing some death-defying typesetting by hand, using Jessica’s acrobatic techniques,
On a Mission Dead Feminist print
and I’ll teach you the ropes of designing for photopolymer, so you can throw a three-ring hand-drawn circus into the mix.
So get thee to the mountains and join us! Registration is open now, but don’t wait too long—the class is capped at 12 students.
See you in North Carolina! Save me some grits, will you?
As you might recall, last Sunday we had a little film festival celebrating all things letterpress. Even though the show’s over, the main event of Wayzgoose is still on deck. So as a little warm-up to get you in the printing mood, I thought I’d share a couple of the films we featured.
First up is an animated short I mentioned over a year ago, after I saw it at the Codex Bookfair in California. I’m pleased to announce that Old Time Film, by Barbara Tetenbaum and Marilyn Zornado, is finally viewable online! So let’s get this party started:
Oh, man. I love that. If you want your very own copy of the film (trust me, you do—there’s a little making-of featurette on the DVD), you can purchase it here. No, Barb and Marilyn aren’t paying me to hawk their movie—I’m just a believer, that’s all.
I’ll leave you with one of my very favorite episodes of The Twilight Zone, circa 1963, where a gleefully terrifying Burgess Meredith gets a newspaper job as the world’s fastest linotype caster. There’s a catch, though: Mr. Smith has a secret. To get in on it, you need to understand the little letterpress inside joke behind the episode’s title.
You see, a typesetter’s inky hands (and quite possibly the inflammatory writ published by the early masters) earned printing the moniker “the Black Art.” So there are all sorts of clever nicknames to go with that title. For instance, a letterpress apprentice was called a “printer’s devil,” and old, broken type gets thrown in the “hell box” to await being melted down. The list goes on.
Get it yet?
Well, watch and you’ll see what I mean. (Gaah! That face.)
Da, da, daaaaaa!
Join us on April 22 for the Wayzgoose, and get in on the devilish fun.
In the meantime, I’m going to practice lighting cigars with my index finger.
Photos by Laurie Cinotto
Today I went around the corner to visit my friend Laurie. She’s a professional craft artist and kitty wrangler (among other things), so I’d be willing to bet she’s one of the nation’s leading experts on cuteness. When I showed up today she had a new batch of kittens to foster, and as Laurie and I chatted, Wiley hopped up, looking for a snuggly spot to nap (I was happy to oblige).
Before long, his siblings Cecil and Sylvie (out of frame) had appeared as well, and suddenly I found myself buried in a warm furry heap of rumbly kitten motors.
It’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it.
Just wanted to give you a peek at what I’ve been doing these days. I try not to think about it too hard, because I officially unveiled the thing almost a year ago, but I’m still working on my book.
Big dang pile of box parts; coffee cup provided for scale.
You see, it’s one thing to get the prototype done for the exhibition, but when you’re making an edition of books, that means you have to finish all the rest of the copies, too.
Obviously, I have my work cut out for me.
Now, to hear the ancient Mayans tell it, I’d best hurry—because time is running out. And there are still so many pictures to draw!
Illustration by Zander Cannon
So my good friend and old-tyme RISD buddy Thomas Quinn had the ingenious idea to count down our remaining days in style by designing and curating a 2012 Apocalypse Calendar, featuring a different artist for each month. The result of all his hard work (read: herding cats) is a fabulous collection of artwork—and possibly a niggling sense of dread as the days count down.
Besides the added bonus of working alongside old friends (Maris Wicks! Dan Hertzberg! Ryan Browne!) and rock-star artists I’ve admired for years (Jay Ryan! Zander Cannon!), I loved the fact that T.Q. let me interpret the theme however I pleased. Rather than going down the illustrated path of mass carnage or Biblical archetypes (I figured those topics would be well covered by the other folks), I decided to time-travel back to my favorite mass-hysterical era, the 1950s.
I did a little research, and dug up a whole bunch of vintage advice on how to survive the end of the world—including a handbook on how to build a fallout shelter, and how to keep yourself amused once you’re in there.
This thing just cracked me up. It has all kinds of “expert” wisdom (like how to fend off the roving bands of contaminated neighbors who will inevitably stop by to borrow a cup of sugar) and cheery photos of housewives preparing dinner with a can opener while dear ol’ Dad bonds with the kids.
Which, of course, reminded me of my other favorite relic from the 50s: illustrated cookbooks. Talk about a goldmine! Everybody from uncredited production interns to the late, great Charley Harper did a cookbook back in the day. The fact that these illustrators were often limited to cheap, two-color printing actually made for surprising, innovative and beautiful results.
And of course, as you already know, I am completely fascinated by the sheer number of terrifying Jell-o recipes and ill-advised casseroles that crop up in old cookbooks.
And since that got me thinking all sorts of wonderfully twisted things about housewives at the End Times, and how Jell-o can probably survive a nuclear holocaust, I decided to combine the two.
So here’s my contribution to the calendar: how to bury your head in the sand, in style. I asked T.Q. for October, since it’s my birthday month, and he was kind enough to oblige. So I went nuts with the pumpkin orange and threw a Halloween party. Complete with absurd salad recipe (that you could actually make, but I wouldn’t advise it), shelter decorating hints, and just a little untold destruction, for garnish.
Illustration by Steve Seeley
We decided that spiffy, large-format, high-quality offset printing is the best way to show off the artwork, so we’ve set up a Kickstarter project to fund the thing. (We even put together a nifty and hilarious video!) Kickstarter is a fairly new phenomenon, and it’s proven to be a wonderful resource for artists, especially—and since the Kickstarter logo uses the same font as the Dunkin Donuts logo, it makes my designer’s lizard brain happy.
Kickstarter works the way an NPR pledge drive does—you get various gifts in return for your support amount. Twenty bucks will buy you a calendar, and there are a bunch of goodies available at other pledge levels, like signed calendars, original art, and even the ability to make the artist of your choice do your bidding and draw your apocalyptic portrait. (Yes, you read that right.) As of today we’ve got 24 days left, and if we meet our goal, we’ll be shipping calendars in December.
Now, the tricky thing about Kickstarter is that it’s an all-or-nothing kind of thing. If we don’t make our set funding goal by the time the clock runs out, the apocalypse will come early we don’t get any of the moolah pledged so far. So pretty please, do us a huge favor by doing your annual calendar shopping a wee bit early—you can make your pledge here.
After all, if the Mayans have their facts straight, this is the last calendar you’ll ever need to buy, right?
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