The Press Arrives
A while back, we won an online auction for a Chandler & Price letterpress. The guys who sold it to us have spent the past few months getting it tuned up and in working order. It was scheduled to arrive yesterday and so we spent Tuesday evening clearing a space for it.
We’re lucky. Right downstairs is a gorgeous space with high ceilings, great light, and even a built-in ventilation system. For decades it was the studio of the extraordinary potter Seiko Behr.
We got down on our knees and scrubbed the floor, which had been sanctified by years of ground-in clay.
On Wednesday morning, a van arrived.
The plan was to take the press in through the sliding door in the front of the barn.
But the press, weighing in at an estimated 1,200 pounds, had other plans. Owing to the geometry of the truck’s lift gate, the door’s height, and the press’s astonishing weight, it was determined that we should try another route.
Through the back of the barn, into the kiln room.
Which required us to move a big pile of stuff…
…back to the space we had already cleared.
We contemplated defeat.
But settled for perseverance instead.
I mean, look at this beauty. It’s heavy for a reason.
With help and muscle from Robbi’s dad Bob, our friend (and master printer) Jim Dissette, and Doug the Baker, we got the thing inside.
Robbi went to the hardware store to buy four 27″ inch lengths of 3/4″ galvanized pipe that served as the foundation of a haphazard, yet surprisingly effective moving apparatus reminiscent of the one used by the ancient Egyptians to shuttle huge chunks of stone to and fro for the making of pyramids.
The next challenge was an eight-inch rise we managed with the help of a pallet jack.
The whole thing was pretty ridiculous. But inch by inch, we moved the press along.
Eventually, it became clear that doors would have to be removed.
But those amazing pipes did the trick.
Even around sharp corners.
Eventually (about four hours later), we got the press in place. The next trick was getting it onto the plywood base that would be its final (for a great while, at least) resting place.
Several more rounds of shenanigans later, we’d done it.
A few months ago, my manly brother Alex gave me a pair of his Carhartt pants, and I hoped one day to engage in some activity worthy of their impressive ruggedness.
See below the undeniable stains of grease from the press’s enormous, greasy gear.
I know my brother will be proud.
The guys who brought the press had removed various pieces in order to get the thing through our doors. And so we had to put it back together. Fortunately, Jim, who has worked around presses his entire life, knew what to do.
As did Harold, the nice fellow who delivered the press, and showed us where various gears, levers, and bolts needed to go.
One of the reasons we’ve been waiting so long for the press is that we had to have new rollers manufactured. Apparently Wal Mart hasn’t carried them since the mid-1860’s.
And so we removed the protective paper wrappings.
And finally, five hours later, the press was in place. Ready to print anything and everything our minds can imagine.
Currently, the press is resting. It’s been a long day, after all. The towel is also protecting the rollers from light and dust. They are rather…sensitive…and given that it took so long to have them made, we’re going to do our best to see that they last a while.
There’s still work to do: installing the motor that will automate our press so that we don’t have to turn that enormous wheel ourselves, equipping ourselves with the various supplies and equipment we’ll need to do the actual printing (a special frame to hold the plates, paper and ink, solvents to keep the press clean), and creating some designs to print. We have a couple of jobs lined up already, and the creative fires are burning, but now it all just has to come together.
A new chapter of our creative life begins. But it would not be possible without its magnificent predecessor. Thank you, Seiko, for inspiring us, for showing us that a life of creative industry is not only possible, but also a wonderful, rich, and sustaining life.
Thank you, Bob, for allowing the next generation to inhabit this precious space.
We’ll do our best to honor it always.
