Typographic Jam Session

Typographic Jam Session

“Affamata di Sapere” – “Hungry to Know”. That seemed like a meaty phrase around which to create a letterpress printing project. It was last year, in conversation with a friend here, that I had first heard that phrase and it leapt back off the pages of my notebook just two days ago. I knew I wanted to integrate that into a piece.

Last year here in Italy, I traveled with an international group through the Legacy of Letters tour. Part of the program was the group collaboration on a large printed piece that was both poster and booklet. Our creation was rendered under the mastery and guidance of artist/letterpress printer, Lucio Passerini, while at the Tipoteca Italiana Fondazione. At the end of the tour, when farewells were being said, Lucio invited me to collaborate with him on a printed project the next time I was in Milano… which is now.

Two days ago I wrote to him with that phrase and a loose list of words swirling in my head… and no solid concept of the form it would all take. Lucio wrote back and said it would be a “typographic jam session” on-press. I liked that. We’d “wing it” and see where the words took us.

Our collaboration started at 3:00 yesterday with the consideration of the words… weighing, comparing their meanings, similarities and differences. We honed, each adding to and deleting from the list. Then we started brainstorming about design, form and fonts, many times finding that our ideas were mirrored by the other. Those were fun moments.

Letterpress printing boils down to each individual letter being put into place one-at-a-time. We were working with woodtype from the early 1900s, from Lucio’s collection. We composed the words, fussed with the spacing, then surrounded everything by a hundred various, mathematically-calculated pieces of metal until the whole thing created an entire rectangle. It was all then clamped rigid onto the press base, ready to be inked and printed. Lucio’s been doing this for so many years and I enjoyed watching his process, seeing his thoughts made visible as he worked.

We printed for 5 hours, adjusting layout and color on-the-fly. “A touch of red” in the green. “A little taste” of white and blue in the dark gray, aiming for more sophisticated color admixtures. The spring green came off the press first, hung to begin drying, then we printed the word list in its dark gray.

Look at all of the individual pieces to create those three words. And many are so small you can’t see them here.

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Lucio-Affamata-Inking-Up

I hung up the printed proofs then we stood across the room to judge the letterspacing and then make adjustments by adding and removing pieces of wood and metal between each letter. (Our green ink started out much too “lime” for my taste so we made it more of my favorite spring, wasabi green.)

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Forty printed sheets were hung from a rack suspended from the ceiling, waiting for the second impression.

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Sometimes typos hide when reading things backwards. Do you see the error in the following photo?

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We printed a tissue paper proof to determine the best position of the word list, overlaying the “affamata” phrase.

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We both smiled when the first, final piece came off the press.

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“Hungry to Know. Passion, curiosity, perseverance, vitality, appetite.”

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When we finished, we joined Lucio’s dear wife at their home, for a celebratory toast, appetizers and a chat. It was a very good day. Grazie, Lucio!

Here are shots of part of Lucio’s studio/print shop. Note how the light changed between 3:00 and 8:00 p.m. (Click on each one to enlarge the photo.)

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Along the Ligurian Sea

Along the Ligurian Sea

Mention a trip to the “Italian Riviera” and one envisions palm trees, beaches, hot sun and relaxation. In fact, Russia had a heat wave that forced the cold polar air south to Italy, so it was very mixed and generally chilly weather along the Ligurian Sea in Italy over the weekend.

When I was living here in Italy for an extended period (June 2009 – July 2010), I rented an apartment from Sandra, who lives in Sanremo. I met her in person 4 months after I had arrived in Milano, when I spoke limited Italian. But she, her husband, Mauro, daughter, Valeria, and I sat and chatted as best we could. At the end of our chat, she invited me to come visit them sometime.

I took the train to go see them in February 2010, after which Sandra said, “You always have a place here with us.” I’ve have now been there five times. A trip to see them has become a requisite “must-do” for me while in Italy.

The four-hour train ride takes us up and over the hills from Milano to the port city of Genova (what Americans call “Genoa”). At that station I had 15 minutes to transfer to the slow train to travel along the Ligurian Sea shoreline, stopping at a half dozen towns along the way until we arrived at Sanremo.

Just a stone’s throw from the border with France and Monaco, Sanremo is a destination for tourists enjoying the lovely setting and climate, the casino, and the yearly musical festival. There are street markets, beach umbrellas for rent, historic centers and gala events. Traffic is chaos and life is beautiful.

See more pictures and read more stories about other visits to Sanremo:
“Pinch Me”
“Sanremo on the Riviera”
“Signs of Sanremo”
“Home Construction, Italian Style”
“Storm and a Blue-sky Day in Sanremo”
“A Ligurian Lunch”
“Sardenara – Not Quite Pizza with Anchovies”

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Milano had been having a crashing, pouring rain all night and all morning, and I had to walk to the subway station to then get to the train station. I hate having wet feet and imagined having my shoes drenched and cold for 4 hours on the train. So I tied plastic bags onto my feet. So very chic. So high-fashion. (Somehow they got damp anyway.)

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It would be fine with me not to see McD’s in my life ever again so it pissed me off to see their ads plastered onto every turnstile at the Milano Centrale train station. Damn. Hate that.

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I was standing at the train platform, looking up to the Genovese hills.  (Click to enlarge.)

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People watching while waiting for the train in Genova. (Click to enlarge.)

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We encountered sunshine along the coast, close to Genova and Savona, but then it got grayer and cooler as we approached Sanremo. (Click to enlarge.)

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Riding along the sea, so blue in the sunshine. (Click to enlarge.)

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Sandra was making her wonderful Ligurian-specific “Sardenara”. It’s “not-quite-pizza”, with anchovies, Ligurian Taggiasche olives, tomato sauce and garlic. (Click to enlarge.)

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Sandra, Mauro and Angelo stand on the deck of Angelo and Renata’s new house that’s near completion, right at the Ligurian shoreline. (Click to enlarge.)

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Sanremo is known for the flowers it grows for Europe. These are some of the many greenhouses on the hills.

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We spent some time watching the Giro d’Italia. The poor cyclists rode amidst snow fields and glaciers in the pouring rain.

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In the Sanremo train station waiting to head home. Here’s the automated restroom, coin-operated and self cleaning. I think the whole stall hoses itself down after each use. (Click to enlarge.)

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My train compartment fellow travelers for part of the ride from home. A cross-section of the world was represented here and we all enjoyed the varied chat. (Click to enlarge.)

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These red-and-white striped chimneys were Dr. Seuss-like against the storm blue sky on the way home.

Almost Baked My Ballerina Flats

Almost Baked My Ballerina Flats

It’s Sunday night. I arrived on Thursday morning in the middle of a hard, driving rain. Since then, it’s been wet, dry, and gray, with just enough blue to keep my spirits up.

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I’ve been piling on every layer I brought with me just to stay warm in my ceramic tile-floor apartment, but I’ve gotten sticky-sweaty when I go out walking about. Deja Vú; this is like last year. (Pretty soon I’ll be complaining about sweating in the muggy heat.)

Yesterday, in the rain, I walked to the subway station, Porta Genova, to meet my friend Ewa, then we walked back here, arm-in-arm for some chatting time. A couple of hours later, I walked her back to the station to, bid adieu, then I walked back home again. By then my shoes – ballerina flats for walking – were drenched.

I really have no active way of drying out my shoes (or clothes). The country turns the radiator heat OFF in April (or thereabouts) so I couldn’t put the shoes on the hot radiator to dry out. There is no clothes dryer, so they can’t be tumbled dry. Without sunshine I can’t find much of a sunny spot in which to perch them. So, I was considering turning the oven on low heat to dry them.

But, just before the next rain shower, a spot of sunny sky persisted long enough to display my shoes on the window ledge* and make my shoes dry-enough and wearable. (Just so you know, it’s not ALL “Under the Tuscan Sun” around here! Besides… I’m not even in Toscana – Tuscany – I’m in Lombardia – Lombardy. Every region is different.)

Glad I brought a long pair of jeans for the first time in 5 years. They’ll keep me warm(er).

(*Just like in Lizhiang, China)

Market Day is Saturday

Market Day is Saturday

In this neighborhood, Saturday is market day. A string of city blocks nearby is blocked off and filled to the brim with produce, fish, cheese, flowers, housewares, clothing… and people. It seems to be when everyone does their big marketing for the week, going home and filling their tiny fridges and cupboards with Italian veggies, fruits and cheese, mediterranean fish, and cheap sundries.

When I was first living here in 2009, it took me a few times to figure out “the system” for buying from the vendors, and then overcome my timidity with my then more-limited Italian. I know the protocol now for waiting in line off to the side, but I still get mixed up over exactly how many green beans come in a kilo… quite a few! Requesting my food in metric amounts is still a guessing game for me.

Then there’s the foxy game the vendors play to upsell a little each time. I ask for 2, they put 3 in my bag. I ask for a half kilo, I go home with somewhere between half and a whole kilo, even though they weigh each order.

And I have yet to find a produce vendor that handles the goods with a gentle touch. It matters with tomatoes, apricots, nespole, plums, figs and others! They use the open produce bag for target practice, flinging each tender fruit toward the bag’s gaping entrance. (Sometimes I’ll observe a vendor for a while and decide not to buy from one that throws the fruit around. It doesn’t leave me many options though.) By the time I walk home with my day’s purchases, I’ve got spoilage already.

All that said, the array not only offers edible delights but a visual one as well. I enjoyed shooting panoramas today to give a sense of the surroundings (those these don’t show the throng of people, nor the clothes and sundries.)

(Click on the photos to see them enlarged.)

Lovely fruits and vegetables.

All sorts of seafood, much of which I’d never seen until I came here.

Olives, canned tuna, pickled foods.

Produce galore.

Produce galore.

Breads and rolls.

Breads and rolls.

We need more olives.

We need more olives.

Yet more produce.

Olives, pickles foods, dried fruits.

Olives, pickles foods, dried fruits.

Nuts and olives.

Nuts and olives.

Salted cod, olives, dried foods and others.

Salted cod, olives, dried foods and others.

More produce, lots of greens.

Many different cheeses and meats.

A meat and cheese vendor.

A meat and cheese vendor.

Today I brought home erbette, rucola, lattuga, fagiolini, pomodori, olive, cipolle, cima di rapa. (leafy greens, arugula, bibb lettuce, green beans, tomatoes, olives, pickled onions, broccoli tops.)

At Home in Milano

At Home in Milano

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(Click on each image to enlarge it.)

17 May 2013, 3:03 p.m. – Milano

The nightingale is singing in my courtyard and the sun is shining. The air is fresh after yesterday’s downpour and wind. The sound of the canalside traffic comes in through my courtyard windows as the city bustles.

I’m waiting for the shops to reopen after their lunchtime closure, so I can go buy a few fixit supplies.

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16 May 2013, 10:00 p.m. – Milano

Arrived “home” to Milano this morning on a pouring-down-rain day. Long travels and lack of sleep over the last few days have left my brain foggy. It’s a wonder I can speak any Italian at all!

Got a few groceries of my favorites: freshly-sliced prosciutto, bresaola, mozzarella di bufalo, smoked provolone, pecorino sardo (meat and cheese theme), plus cherry tomatoes, songino salad greens, Barillo arrabbiata sauce, taggiasche olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

After a good nap, I went to recharge my Italian cell phone, then came home and messed around with getting online. Now I’m all set up and it’s time for a good night’s sleep.

Buona notte.


16 May 2013, 9:25 a.m. – Milano

Milano Malpensa Airport on a pouring-down-rain day. I’m sleeveless as I wait for the train’s departure to go into the city. I have a sweater and coat to put on against the rain, but I’m plenty warm without the, until I get out in it.

I’m beat. Dead-tired from not having slept hardly for 2 nights. My brain is foggy/rummy.

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15 May 2013, 5:15 p.m. – JFK Airport, New York

Sitting and waiting at JFK Terminal in NYC and listening to Paul Simon’s “Slip Sliding Away,” on my way back to Milano. I’m excited to return!

Hiatus

Hiatus

It’s been a pause, a respite from one endeavor so I could shift energies and surge headlong into others. I took a break from documentation so that participation could be intense and entire. And it has been.

After the visual lushness of Prague last July, I returned to Milano for just a few days before heading back out for a 12-day whirlwind typographic tour with Legacy of Letters. Our days started early, ended late and were filled in between with letterforms and conversation. These months later, many of us still keep in touch. The lasting connection is a surprise gift.

The tour ended and I returned to Milano to gather my things and my wits, suntanned, thinking in Italian and in the dreamy end-days of goodbye. I had no plan to return to Italy 10 months later and didn’t know when I would.

I’m a veteran of re-entry now, but it still plunges me deep and solo and quiet. It takes a while to get my head together after returning from life off-and-away. It’s as if I’ve been to the moon and back. I hunker down and get private, and very selective.

Really, it takes a couple months to get back in my groove here, not feeling jarred and jolted by contrasts and absences.

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In time, I got my momentum back up and strong. I’ve explored snow crystals and cloudscapes. HTML and CSS. Intimate, heartfelt time and public, community time. I have enjoyed satisfying work and creative, personal expression. I took a big bite, savoring flavors both sweet and sour, and filled my belly in these last 10 months.

Yet still I felt a pang at the idea of not tasting Italy, not setting foot along the Naviglio Grande – the Grand Canal. Not sharing meals with friends I cherish there. Italia… Milano… has become a second home for me. My heart and mind have been pierced with a barbed and complex arrow which cannot be removed.

And so I find myself on the eve of departure. I look forward to a “going home”. It’s not the external excitement of a first visit I feel. It’s deep and fundamental; it’s in my gut and my core.

I have crafted a life which twines two places half a world apart. I marvel at it, find it jaw-dropping and am humbled and grateful more than I could ever communicate. It is a “well-wrought life”, as a friend once said.

Duomo

Just days from now, I will make my pilgrimage to my beloved Duomo of Milano. I will take very late night strolls along the canals. I will ride a bike into the farmland for fresh ricotta, share meals with dear friends, switch to Italian 98% of the time and fill myself with inspiration. My time in Italy is deeply challenging, deeply nourishing, deeply invigorating.

It is an incredible gift to live so full-on, to be so vital, so stimulated.