A press, a box of proofs and a pen pal.
There is an etching press in my garage.
It was in storage following our move. Then the moving company wanted it removed from their storage facility, so it came home. And there it has sat for a year or so, pushed to one side of the garage beneath an accumulation of shoes, boots and car parts we couldn’t find places for. It’s surprising how such a large object can disappear. Eventually, the pallet the press sat on began to disintegrate under the weight. It has finally been moved into position, and the rehabilitation process is underway.
The rollers were coated in rust, which took hours to remove. While I worked, I kept thinking about the prints I made years ago. I realised that I could have been making cards and small editions all along.
For now, I am cleaning, oiling, ordering blankets, finding plates and relearning. I’m nowhere near ready to pull the first print. I like that there is still a small amount of suspense involved.
From the studio
The greeting card project is moving ahead too.
Household Work is a series of hand-cut collages made from found images, about home and the work that goes on inside it. I’ve been testing how several of them translate from artwork into something smaller.
The proofs arrived this week, and I’m hoping to launch a small collection before the end of the year.
Correspondence
I’ve been reading The Correspondent by Virginia Evans.
It’s told entirely through letters sent and received. Sybil, the central character, is a lifelong letter writer, and this fictional woman has made me want to pick up a pen.
In primary school I had an American pen pal, Amy Jo. We exchanged letters and photographs. I still have the photo she sent me. It’s a small black-and-white rectangle of her with her name written on the back. Once she wrote that she was going on holiday with her family to Niagara Falls. I imagined her standing in front of the falls, and then, as sometimes happens, the letters stopped.
Where I live, neighbourhood post offices are disappearing. They’re being consolidated into one large outlet on the edge of the CBD. Reading Sybil’s correspondence just as it’s dawning on me that posting a letter is becoming more difficult, I find myself wanting to write letters again.
Sybil writes to family and friends. She tracks people down because she has something to say to them.
So I am going to write some letters.
I just need people to write to.
If you’d like a letter, let me know. I’d love to write to you. Just email me at catherine@catherineruss.com with your postal address.
I have no idea what the first impression from the press will look like, or who my first letter will go to. I’m looking forward to finding out both.
Until next month,
Catherine