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Birmingham was a delightful surprise, and in many ways, a study in contrast. It’s a bastion of progressive thought in the consummately conservative south (e.g.: on my way from Huntsville to Birmingham, I passed through & spent a little time in Cullman, AL, notorious for its historical connection to the Ku Klux Klan), but it still displays deep racial rifts geographically & economically. I had one more stop before leaving Alabama: Indian Springs School. It would prove to demonstrate this contrast further – but it would also give me a reason to reflect on why I undertook this journey in the first place.
Indian Springs School is the only secondary school that I’ve visited on the trip – I made the connection through a friend from the SUNY at Buffalo Poetics Department, Jessica Smith. She and I have been friends for almost 20 years; she is an academic and poet, and for the last 5 years she’s been doing progressive and unprecedented work in creative writing, experimental literature, and library acquisitions at the school. It’s a private boarding school with over 50 years of history – and while it has a strong commitment to diversity and opportunity, it still reflects a level of privilege that only class and financial security normally provide. As I drove to the school, even after a briefing from Jessica, I still wondered what I was in for – was I about to find myself smack in the middle of a bunch of pretentious, coddled, precocious, mostly white teens? Would the snobbery and elitism be palpable? As I unloaded the car, I tried to bracket my prejudices and evaluate as objectively as possible. It was brisk and cold. The unseasonable weather was following me around the South, so I braced myself for the wind and hauled the work I’d done on the trip so far, some previous work in portfolios, and a Kelsey 3 x 5 tabletop platen press (borrowed from The Southern Letterpress) into the auditorium where I would be presenting.

It was early on a Monday morning, so I got to witness a Town Hall Meeting that features presentations to the entire student body from the Mayor and Commissioners, all student-elected officials that help run certain aspects of the campus (recycling, event planning, etc.). I can only say that I was awed at the level of respect that the general body gave to the presenters, and the incredible level of elocution & poise the officers demonstrated. Albeit under very controlled circumstances, I couldn’t help thinking: “what if all government ran so smoothly?” I was scheduled to follow the Town Hall Meeting as part of Indian Springs ongoing Art Fuels lecture series – so the moment it wrapped up I trotted my portfolios and the little press out on the stage to a diminished audience of about 30 students.

I opted out of using the podium and drew the students in close as I gave them an overview of tramp printing, and then more generally, letterpress printing. They perused the prints I’d put out as I spieled, but I knew that it was difficult for them to understand how they were made without a demonstration – so I pulled the press over, inked it up, and invited them all to take a turn making their own print. They were excited, they were observant, and they were terrifically quiet. I couldn’t sense if it was a bad thing, but once they’d finished printing, they looked at the prints again, and then the questions came – how were certain prints made, why were certain colors chosen, where did all the elements come from – I was happy to see they really were paying attention. Too soon, it was time to wrap up in the auditorium so that I could speak to an Experimental Literature class and an Entrepreneurship class. Two things that are right up my alley, if I do say so myself.So far I’d been impressed by the students’ self-control and ability to articulate themselves, but with their access to resources, it was to be expected – I knew that in the classroom setting I’d be able to get a better sense of their personalities and proclivities. The classes met together, and because many of them weren’t at the earlier presentation, I reviewed the history of itinerant printing, what had led me to undertake the project, the initial crowdfunding campaign, and how I had started letterpress printing as a poet, writer, and book artist. I spent the rest of the time answering their astoundingly insightful questions, but asking questions of them as well – what they intended to do with the information I gave them – were they interested in cultural organizing? writing & publishing? building small businesses? what kind of models appealed to them? And so we wiled away the time, and I wrapped up my day, and packed up my car.

As I drove the winding roads away from Indian Springs, I thought about spending time at DISCo in Birmingham, and how their model was designed to provide underprivileged communities with access to creative resources, and how my experience at Indian Springs was at the opposite end of the spectrum – instead of a small shop in a transitional neighborhood whose doors were open to everyone, I’d been to a private boarding school in the affluent suburbs with a closed campus that had a security guard at the gate. While the experiences were so wildly divergent, I couldn’t help but leave Indian Springs feeling that the students were being given serious lessons in leadership, citizenry, diversity, equal opportunity, and entrepreneurship. And while their experience might not be one of economic or class struggle, perhaps they’d leave their cloister to actuate what they’d learned, and try to manifest inclusivity in the wider world, albeit via the intellectual lessons of their exclusive circumstances. I also thought to myself that this distribution of resources was nothing new, and while I might bemoan it, I should focus on doing my small part to express to students of all ages the egalitarian nature of print and my project, and the necessity of keeping an open mind.

After another night staying with Jessica, I headed out to Jackson, MS where I visited Thimblepress, a veritable powerhouse in the Etsy/DIY/Craftculture movement, where I’d learn quite a bit about what it means to run a boutique design & letterpress business in the modern age. This wasn’t before I received terrible news from home about a close friend – something that reminded me, incontrovertibly, that although I was on the road, life everywhere else was humming along, and life at home, where most of the people that I love and care about are, was no different. The road was lonely from the start, but the trip from Alabama to Louisiana felt more lonesome than before, and I had to come to terms with my helplessness while traveling – it’s cliché, but even in the era of technological co-presence, it’s impossible to be in two places at once.

Leaving the unlikely idyll of Huntsville, AL, where I visited Green Pea Press and the bustling Lowe Mill Arts & Entertainment building was tough; it was the kind of place you could sink into like an old (but culturally productive) couch. But, the auspicious itinerary lay out before me, and the next opportunity was a unique one – to visit the same letterpress shop in a different city. Say what? Welcome to the bifurcated universe of The Southern Letterpress.

The Southern Letterpress, as I intimated in my previous post, is an amorphous, energetic, and ambitious endeavor co-helmed by Jessica Peterson & Bridget Elmer. While in Florida, I visited Bridget’s arm of the press in Gulfport, and now it was time to see what kind of space Jessica had carved for herself in the landlocked rail hub of Birmingham, AL. I had a feeling that despite the similarity in name, it would be a study in geographical & social contrast – a different state, different terrain, different audience, and a different pilot. By this time on the trip, I was getting the familiar feeling that I’d both be right & wrong at the same time. The weather stayed unseasonably cold & grey as I rumbled through the roughshod Woodlawn neighborhood toward the Desert Island Supply Co. (affectionately called DisCo) that housed Jessica’s iteration of The Southern Letterpress.DisCo labels itself as a “creative writing center for students” but it’s so much more than that – it’s a thematic space based loosely on the concepts behind 826 Valencia in San Francisco & the Austin Bat Cave that gives children a chance to explore creative opportunities well beyond words on the page; they facilitate classes in bookmaking, zine-making, and even work with students on school newspapers & audio/radio storytelling. The Southern Letterpress was a fantastic partner, providing most young writers with their first introduction to letterpress, typography, and the history of the printed word. In addition, DisCo has a retail component, a general store of sorts, where students, artists, and art aficionados can purchase prints, cards, supplies, and other olio, again, a great trifecta of cultural production (The Southern and other printers sell their work there), cultural appreciation, and cultural consumption. The space is aesthetically attuned to exploration, covered in maps, mounted fish, fraught with books about geography, speckled with curious artifacts and the detritus of a ship’s deck: hemp ropes, block & tackle, the occasional spear. In many ways, it reminded me of an exploded view of a cranky Captain’s quarters during the great age of oceanic wanderers. But, back to the reason we’re here: letterpress.Jessica has culled an amazing array of cuts over time, including a bunch for the “Straight Edge” flour company and a love-it-or-leave-it font of 6-line Hobo wood type. All told, her Vandercook SP15 is accompanied by half a dozen type cabinets and over 100 cases of assorted metal & wood type. She’s also in possession of a 3 x 5 tabletop press that she was kind enough to lend me for my trip to Indian Springs School – but more on that next installment.

I wanted to showcase the Hobo wood type, along with some geometric 12-line Gothic – but it seemed a shame to leave the interesting cuts out. I sifted through them, proofing most of the unique ones, but finally settling on a ticket for the circus that a person could purchase for an orphan. It seemed like a cut with a story – from a time when charity was a thing passed from a generous hand directly to a hand in need – whether it be legal tender, clothing, or some other object. As I read the unfamiliar & uncouth language on the ticket, its motivation & modus operandi seemed a far cry from the wild separation maintained now in charity – where at the click of a digital button, ones & zeroes are shifted, and “money” is transferred from one account to another, with only a facile understanding of the need at the other end of the wire. Or in a foreign country.
As I wrapped up a cozy & intimate event at DisCo, people were filing in for a small concert. I decided to stick around, and as I watched a few dedicated musicians play to a few dedicated people in the crowd, I thought about how I hoped that’s what The Itinerant Printer project could restore: not our connection between those who give and those who receive charity, but between those who make art objects and those who receive them.

Soon after my visit to The Southern Letterpress in Birmingham, Jessica pulled up roots and headed to New Orleans to begin a new adventure. The NOLA version of TSL is up and running, doing well, and as I hear it, feels quite comfortable & excited about this next chapter. Looks like I’ll have the chance to visit the “same” letterpress shop in 3 different cities if I get back down to NOLA – but chances are that won’t be for a little while. Check the gallery below for all the pics of TSL and DisCo!

I set out from Carrollton, GA on February 26^th, and headed west toward Huntsville, AL. There’d been auspicious weather reports about heavy rain, snow, or if the temperature hovered in the right range, an ice storm. Being from Buffalo, I was undaunted – but less than an hour into the drive, the weather took a turn for the worse as fat, heavy, wet snowflakes fell and began building up on the road. Twenty minutes later, it had only gotten worse, and I was starting to see cars near me on the highway fishtail and careen off the road. “Amateurs” I thought to myself. But after seeing more than 20 cars off the road and slowing to a crawl, I rethought my strategy of pushing ahead. I’d barely made it halfway, and the closest town with a cheap motel was Gadsden, AL. I sighed, ponied up $50 for a spartan little room next to a pond, and hit the local box store for provisions (beer & berries & brie). After that, there was nothing to do but post up and watch the flakes fall – I knew it was bad, but I had no idea it was going to be the largest one-day snowfall in AL in recorded history. It was time to tell Green Pea Press that I’d be a little late.
I woke to blue skies, but an unsettling quiet. The snow was melting, but the roads were still covered. I saw no bodies. I saw no cars. I began to wonder if this was a magic storm that took people and left snow. Or maybe everyone was busy helping the countless drivers who’d spun off the road. Either way, it was time for me to keep moving. It felt apocalyptic – every store, restaurant, and gas station was closed – so I started pretending I was the last person on earth and thinking about what I’d do to procure what I needed. Luckily I wouldn’t actually have to do that; within an hour I was getting close to Huntsville, and began to see signs of life again. As I turned into the Lowe Mill Arts & Entertainment building where GPP is located, the apocalypse fantasy had lost its charm and I began thinking about lunch.
I met Rachel Lackey, owner/operator of GPP outside the massive repurposed mill that houses hundreds of artist’s studios & retail spaces (it’s actually the largest in America). She has an unwavering smile & an infectious laugh; we joked as we toured the print shop and wandered around the empty mill. GPP is a privately-owned community-based print shop that teaches letterpress, screenprinting, and intaglio workshops. It has a strong earned-income model based on small-scale commercial screenprinting and an adjacent retail space (lovingly called The Pea Pod); in its five-year history it’s continued to expand, and recently had to move screenprinting operations to a different building offsite to accommodate demand & free up the space in the Mill to be more art/workshop focused. The shop boasts a 12” x 18” C & P from 1914, a Challenge Proof Press, a 3” x 5” Kelsey, assorted wood and metal types, assorted screenprinting sundries, and a 3’ x 4’ handbuilt etching press. It’s well-equipped for a smaller space, and it’s clearly well-loved (in terms of being well-used, but also in terms of being highly regarded by everyone in the city – if there’s one thing Rachel knows how to do, it’s make friends & build community).

Huntsville is a unique town – dubbed “Rocket City,” it’s where the majority of the engineering for many N.A.S.A. programs took place; it wears this legacy proudly on its sleeve. The combination of a mid-sized city with a viable economy full of high-paying jobs means good things for the arts – there’s an audience that has money, there’s a tax base to support community programs, and there’s a need for a counterbalance to all the math & science. Lowe Mill is bustling every day that it’s open, but especially on the weekends. It was great to see so many people so invested in a place where I least expected it.
Coincidentally (but appropriately)I found a wood typeface called “Starlight” made by the Showcard Company to print at GPP. It’s a bizarre & intriguing script face that we put to use on a non-standard specimen sheet. In addition to the poster-sized specimen, I found two hollow people (morticed figures) and a great shaded metal typeface called Halftone that I combined to create a postcard.

I spent a lot longer in Huntsville and at Green Pea Press than many of the places I’ve stopped along the way; it was the perfect place for a rest, the perfect place to see rockets and spaceships (I spent an entire day running around the U.S. Space & Rocket Center like a 10 year old), and the perfect place to continue to have my assumptions about the south and small cities undermined by good people.