Showing posts with label self. Show all posts
Showing posts with label self. Show all posts

Wednesday, 15 February 2012

Alive and well, living only in theory!



Lately I have been very busy with work and other things. Because I haven't had much time to write anything, here's a picture of me drilling magazines. Oh yes!

Thursday, 8 September 2011

WWJLD

Fine Bookbinding by Jen Lindsay

Slowly getting back to the books. I know I haven't been much of a blogger or even a binder lately, but I'm still alive. During the last two months I have been mostly just organising things (also dismantling some, it seems) and now that everything's organised, I'm ready to start working on something. I have a reason to believe that this autumn and winter will both provide more than enough time for just about every project I have been intending to do. I kind of like the idea. We'll see what comes out of this all.

Light

Monday, 25 April 2011

Printing blocks and Brontës

This is me getting excited in Haworth, West Yorkshire in 2009. We found a small antiquarian bookshop which stored these drawers full of various wooden printing blocks. The shopkeeper informed us that the blocks used to belong to some printer who quit and just got rid of them. They were all priced separately like collectibles so trying to choose a proper set to buy hurt my brain. Anyway, for a bit of this and that and a small but interesting selection of rare editions see Venables and Bainbridge at 111 Main Street, Haworth. I have yet to use the blocks for anything...

Apart from the odd shops, Haworth is also a nice place to go for a literary pilgrimage. The small village is famous for the Brontë sisters who lived in the old parsonage, now converted into a museum. If you travel outside the tourist season, or if it happens to be a rainy day, there are lots of things to experience. We slept all our nights in our campervan, in a disused gravel parking lot just behind the graveyard; It wouldn't be exaggerated to say that with its tall headstones and slabs the crowded parsonage graveyard feels like the heart of the old village. That and the church, the old stone cottages, narrow alleys, the three pubs - all crammed into this small area, a microcosm of sorts. Behind the parsonage, a small pasture; Behind the pasture, the Pennine moorland.