​I had been volunteering at the Museum of Printing History for more than a year, accumulating studio time to work on book arts projects. I was finally ready to to set my first type, and wanted to start with a modest project. A single page of text would he a good beginning, and a succinct and meaningful poem would be ideal. All the past fall I had I had been watching episodes of Inspector Morse and its successor, Inspector Lewis, on PBS Masterpiece Theater, as much for the wonderful poetry by A. E. Housman and others as for the drama of the series. The action takes place at Oxford University where multiple murders must be solved without disturbing the dreamy academics. In the episode "And the moonbeams kiss the Sea," Percy Bysshe Shelley's poem, Love's Philosophy is found in the pocket of a murdered art student. An early suspect is another artist with a quirky personality, perhaps somewhat autistic. He seems unaffected by the murder of his friend and lover, is amused that the police have found a "body in the Bodleian," the ancient library at Oxford holding manuscripts of English poets back to Shakespeare and Chaucer. Oxford is the university of my fantasies, and any drama set there is sure to charm me.

For weeks after seeing the episode my mind was full of the Romance of Shelley's life and early death, his passionate loves and committed atheism. The end of the episode finds Inspector Lewis at the Shelly Memorial on the Oxford campus marveling at the icy cool sculpture of the drowned Shelley by Edward Onslow Ford. My first project would be the love poem of Shelley's youth.


The first decision was to choose an appropriate font. I wanted it to be from the times when the poem was published in 1819, but that was not the only restriction. It also had to be present in three sizes: title, body text and present in the museum's collection in sufficient quantity to account for all the letters. The font called Baskerville was a classic early 19th century font that filled the historical requirements, and there was enough of the 11, 12 and 14 point foundry type letters to accommodate the poem.

The second decision was the choice of paper. A machine-made paper would not be distinguishable from a printout from a computer printer. I chose instead a handmade paper made of abaca fibers by the papermaker at the museum, Kathy Gurwell.The paper was a soft paper with a lot of individual variation, and was a lovely shade of beige. Every sheet bore a deckled edge, and the size of 8.5" x 11" left a generous amount of paper surrounding the poem.

The third choice was which press to use, one of the Kelsey platen presses, the Washington press, or the Vandercook proof press. The Kelsey is self-inking, so it would be faster to print a large number, but I only needed 25 copies and did not mind hand inking. The Washington is a little harder to register each sheet, and requires more muscular effort per sheet, so I chose the Vandercook. Each sheet is fed into the press with a rolling motion, so the work flow is smooth, and the hand inking would not be a chore for twenty five copies.

The fourth choice is ink, and the alternatives are rubber-based offset ink and oil based printing ink. Though rubber-based ink is slower to dry, it stores on the shelf longer for intermittent printers like myself. I normally use rubber-based ink for my linocut prints, so I stayed with that.

Foundry type is stored in drawers (cases) filed with a California case layout. I opened the case and with the compositor's stick in my left hand, placed the letters upside down (nick up) into the stick in the order of the text. After each line I checked the tension by adding thins, combinations of brass (2 points) or coppers (1 point) until the letters no longer had any slack nor were too rigid. Setting the entire poem was an afternoon's work. When the lines are turned right-side up, it reads backwards, as it must to print the correct direction.

The following day I arrived early with my paper, ink, roller and cleanup materials in hand. Printing was almost anti-climactic, and in just an hour or so I had all the copies I wanted. These went onto the drying rack, and when I returned the following day the copies were thoroughly dry, and I redistributed the type back into its proper cases.

​When my daughter announced that she was getting married, I was elated. Her intended is a fine man who cares about her and is dedicated to his daughter. I will be pleased to have him for a son-in-law. After the news sunk in, I wondered how I could help with the plans. Fathers of young brides have historically been tapped to pay for the event, but in the modern era of self-reliant women who often marry only after establishing themselves, this practice is often set aside. In any case my monastic lifestyle rules out a significant role in the financial aspect of the celebration. But I wanted to contribute in some way, and I soon realized that I could lessen the burden by printing the wedding invitation as a letterpress project. I was delighted when she agreed that I could take on this task. 

I have been a printmaker since 1998, and have been volunteering at the Museum of Printing History since my exhibition there in 2008. My first letterpress printing there was a poem by Shelley done in December 2010, and I was anxious to extend my experience at the art of text and foundry type. We consulted back and forth on the text of the invitation, the paper, and the font and after six weeks of communiques I was ready to set the form. We had picked Liberty Script, a fine font which the Museum had in abundance in 14 point and 12 point, the sizes I needed for a line length of 20 points. At 72 points per inch, a 20 point line is 3.6 inches. I set the type upside down with the nick up in a compositor's stick held in my left hand as I pulled the type from the case with my right hand. Thus, when the stick is turned upside down, the text reads backwards as it must for printing from lead font. Since the text was to be center justified, I placed an equal number of spacers of whatever sort I needed (quads, em-spaces, en-spaces, etc) on both sides of the text, then adjusted the tension with thins of 1 point (copper) or 2 points (brass) until the tension was just right before moving on to the next line. 

When all the lines were set, I placed the form (the type to be printed) on the bed of the Vandercook press and placed furniture around the text, including horizontal and vertical quoins to tighten the text and prevent slippage during the printing process. I planed the letters by tapping with a rubber mallet to make sure no letter stuck up too high, checked that there was no lateral slack by pushing backwards and forwards, then tightened the quoins to secure the form on the press bed. I inked in red (Pantone 199) with a hand roller, and printed on Fabriano Medioevalis. 

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