I must confess ~ each time a piece of paper goes into the printing press blank and emerges again filled with words, I am astonished.

What still feels like the sudden epiphany of language out-of-nothing is not, in fact, miraculous. It is careful, collaborative craftsmanship by author and papermaker and metal-caster and printer, among others. It’s a strangely fluid movement of human and machine ~ an always-changing choreography of eye and iron, hand and fiber, thought and ink and breath.

Joyous!

Here’s a little photo diary from today’s print run. I was printing the second color (in red) on the title page of St Brigid Press’s newest book, forthcoming in early February.

It all starts with sheets of beautiful blank paper...

This is "Ben," the 100+ year old iron handpress, and my workstation.

Here's what we're printing today ~ the title and decoration for the title page of our new book. It's all set up in metal, locked securely on the bed of the press, and ready for to print.

The first step is to place, or "hang," the sheet of paper-to-be-printed on the tympan. You can see the little metal guides that keep the page in the correct spot. (You can also see the words in black ink that I printed earlier in the week.)