September 12th, 2012
Since Jessica and I got back from teaching at the Penland School of Crafts, I’ve been struggling to put the experience into words. But no matter how I go on about how beautiful the Blue Ridge Mountains are; or how unique Penland’s creative culture is; or how amazingly talented each and every one of our students were; or how seriously delicious a hot bowl of cheese grits is after a walk in the chilly morning fog; or how many wonderful people we met; or how much we loved the challenge of basically teaching two classes in one intense week—well, I get a little incoherent. So I’ll let my sketchbook do the talking. (I kept a little notebook in my apron pocket all week, and every time I had a second to spare, I was scribbling away.)
In short: we can’t wait to go back. Huge thanks to the lovely folks at Penland for hosting us and creating such a wonderful place to learn and make things; to our seven fabulous students for their enthusiasm and willingness to dive right in; and to our angelic friend Mary-Alice for being the absolute hands-down best teaching assistant the world has ever seen. Hope to see y’all again soon!
August 29th, 2012
All I can manage is a quick note today—because this is where I am right now … and this place has got me pretty speechless.
I’m here teaching with Jessica this week, with a studio full of smart, sassy, and seriously talented women.
The class has got us inspired to stay up late printing every night, but it’s hard to feel tired—
—when you’ve got this view waiting for you when you return to work every morning.
April 9th, 2012
When Jessica and I were in North Carolina last summer, we had just enough sightseeing time to squeeze in a short trip along the aptly-named Blue Ridge Parkway.
Between the dappled sunlight,
the lush Southern greenery,
and the unexpected splashes of color,
we were enchanted in an instant.
(I, for one, was tempted to do a little Katniss Everdeen impression—just run away from it all and head for the hills.)
It wasn’t hard to imagine sitting down and breaking out the paper and paints, with all that blue haze as inspiration.
The folks at the nearby Penland School of Craft certainly agree. Since Lucy Morgan founded it in 1929, Penland has become a national center for craft education. Widely respected for its preservation of handcraft traditions, Penland is centered on total-immersion study and both traditional and experimental techniques. Settled in a quiet pocket of the Blue Ridge Mountains, it’s an inspiring setting for focused work. Thanks to its reputation and location, the school attracts some of the country’s best artists and fine craftspeople to study and teach in the Penland studios.
So you can imagine how thrilled and honored Jessica and I were when they asked us to come and teach a letterpress workshop there this summer.
We’ll be teaching a one-week printing intensive, and doing our very best to turn the printshop upside down. This ain’t your grandpa’s letterpress. Here are the details:
Letterpress: Old Dog, New Tricks
A printmaking intensive with Chandler O’Leary and Jessica Spring
Penland School of Crafts, Penland, NC
Summer Session 7: Aug. 26 to Sept. 1, 2012
In the class, we’ll work with both hand-set type (don’t worry, we won’t monkey with any linotype machines…) and photopolymer plates to produce editioned prints that combine the two techniques.
We’re going to get pretty technical, pretty fast, but don’t worry—the workshop is open to all levels of experience. That way we can bring letterpress newbies up to speed quickly, and give more experienced printers the chance to go nuts and geek out with us.
“Unnatural Light” by Jessica Spring
You’ll be doing some death-defying typesetting by hand, using Jessica’s acrobatic techniques,
On a Mission Dead Feminist print
and I’ll teach you the ropes of designing for photopolymer, so you can throw a three-ring hand-drawn circus into the mix.
So get thee to the mountains and join us! Registration is open now, but don’t wait too long—the class is capped at 12 students.
See you in North Carolina! Save me some grits, will you?
September 17th, 2011
Many of my favorite towns (Boulder, Missoula, Portland, the other Portland, Duluth, Tacoma, Providence, etc.) seem to be kindred spirits to one another. There’s something about the coming-together of historic architecture, blue-collar grittiness, a population full of creative types and surrounding natural beauty that … well, for which I’m a total sucker. So based on all the reports over the years I’ve had about Asheville, I knew it was going to be my kinda place.
When Jessica and I were there last month for the Ladies of Letterpress Conference, we made sure to give ourselves plenty of extra time to go exploring.
Asheville is nestled in the thick of the Blue Ridge Mountains, which turned nearly every direction we looked into a beautiful panorama.
The lush, southern climate gave us the feeling that we were walking through an urban greenhouse. Everything was in full bloom and living color.
The city’s history is visible around every well-preserved corner.
Unfortunately, that preservation is often an accidental outcome in towns that are slowly withering—but that was far from the case here. Despite an economically troubled past, Asheville is a vibrant, active city, complete with a fierce sense of local pride. We saw some variation of these signs in every shop and restaurant window, over and over again. (Hint, hint, Tacoma!)
But above all, there was a comfortable sense of down-home warmth in every quarter. Everyone we met was sweet as pecan pie, and the whole place seemed to invite us to settle in and relax. And the rocking chairs! I swear, we saw them everywhere—even at the airport! That’s a tradition I can get behind—I mean, sit down upon.
I could go on and on all day about Asheville’s charms as a city, but what I really want to talk about is the food. Oh, the food. And I know that saying so doesn’t exactly make me your typical Yankee, but I have a real thing for Southern cuisine. And after trying a new restaurant at every interval for five days, I’m convinced that it’s nigh impossible to have a bad meal in Asheville.
I’ll never understand the point of chain restaurants. When I travel, I’m not interested in the generic food you can get anywhere in America—I want local flavor. When in Rome, you know? So whenever I’m in a new place, I usually order whatever the restaurant is particularly known for, which is often some sort of local specialty. It’s never steered me wrong yet.
So at the Early Girl Eatery, I had the shrimp n’ grits. What’s more Southern than that? And more importantly, what could possibly be more tasty? As if that weren’t enough, the garnish on the grits was the fact that everything on the menu was locally source, and whenever possible, organic. Plus, they served the real, no-kidding, hard-core stone-ground coarse grits—the ones the Tailor and I love so much that we actually order them from a North Carolina mill and have them shipped out west as one of our staple grains. (Yes, I know we’re weird.)
The Southern boasted both local and seasonal fare (and terrible lighting for photographs, sorry), and their peach, pecan, goat cheese and honey salad was like summer on a plate.
When a large group of letterpress folks joined us at Salsa’s, Southern cookin’ wasn’t exactly on the menue, but I stuck with my rule-of-thumb about the house specialty, and as usual, it was the right choice. This time I ordered their famous molcajete, a traditional Mexican mortar-and-pestle carved out of basalt, heated to something like earth-core temperatures, and filled with a molten and unbelievably delicious stew. The secret ingredient was goat cheese again, which is always a-okay with me. Besides, for someone who loves nerdy scientific things like specific heat, this dinner took the cake—even though it was nearly an hour before I could eat it without my face melting.
(Jessica was a fan of the molcajete, too.)
Now, I like lemonade, sweet tea and unsweet tea as much as the next gal, but I’ve always been a coffee drinker. And after three years as a transplanted Northwesterner, I’m a total convert to the coffee culture; a late-morning walk just doesn’t feel right without a cuppa. It was 95 muggy degrees outside, so an iced Americano hit the spot—and at the Battery Park Book Exchange, they’ll serve it to you in snazy wine glasses and let you while away the whole caffeinated day paging through the impressive North Carolina section.
One of the people we befriended at the conference is an Asheville native who let us in on the secret about where to get the best dessert in town. Handmade chocolates. ‘Nuff said.
Still, it was the Southern classics I was the most hungry for—like this gigantic sweet potato pancake at the Tupelo Honey Cafe. It came garnished with spicy pecans and escorted by a side of grits with—you guessed it—goat cheese. Like nearly every other meal I had in Asheville, it was light and deftly made (though impossible to finish!), and completely unlike the heavy, greasy stereotype people have in their heads. With each bite I was more and more baffled by the idea that anyone could dislike Southern food.
Of course, no sojourn below the Mason-Dixon Line would be complete (for omnivores, at least) without a taste of authentic, heart-attack-inducing Southern barbeque. To get our fix, Jessica and I headed for Luella’s.
Neither of us could decide, so we ended up eating family-style and sharing everything. I picked the giant stuffed baked potato with everything plus the kitchen sink and a coronary on top (shown here with a bit of Jessica’s spare ribs). Which was fantastic, truly, but it was the hush puppies that stole the show. Best. Freaking. Hush puppies. Ever. I think the secret is in the shape—greater crispy-to-fluffy ratio. Yum.
But my favorite meal of the trip was one that will probably live in my all-time top ten forever: fried-green-tomato eggs Benedict (with a side of grits, natch!) at the Over Easy Cafe. I still dream about that one.
I’m also still dreaming of that blue haze. Whether it’s for the local flavor or the letterpress gals, the hush puppies or the hills, you can bet I’ll be back.