Zeichen Press

Tag: letterpress in minneapolis

  • Behold, I Make All Things New

    Remember last year when my lung collapsed and my mom had to sleep on a cot in my dingy bedroom so she could walk me to the bathroom in the middle of the night?collapsed lung discharge papersAnd EMTs had to come to that same dingy bedroom, on that very same night, because we thought my chest-tube had fallen out?

    No?

    I know you’re wondering if the EMTs were cute and why my bedroom was so dingy. Um, my mom volunteered to be their Resusci Annie doll and I’ve been a little too busy building the Zeichen Press Empire to focus on home-making frivolity.

    But, between choosing paper/envelopes for the Spring Release and conquering territories, I did refresh my bedroom. And now I see no reason to ever leave it.new roomChoosing paint color is just like choosing ink color. But with less Jen and more anxiety.

    Speaking of self-medicating (was I?) here’s a Spring Release teaser (see/buy ALL 12 from the shop!):use.app for this

  • Urban Hermitage

    Discovering Instacart might change my life.instacart.IMG_8593These modern services enable my dwindling desire to engage with the outside world.

    IN JANUARY. IN MINNESOTA.

    And why should I leave my house when Millie the Dog is learning to speak Human?

    If only the shop were actually connected to my house.back door to shop.IMG_8614Just look at that commute! Ridiculous.

    Or… inspiring? It must be inspiring because I made this.mozart revised

  • The Perfect Time

    Thanks to buzzfeed quizzes, examining my conscience is so much easier. And shouldn’t we all ask ourselves those tough questions this time of year? ”If I were a pizza, what kind would I be?” Or, “Do I prefer Miley Cyrus from her Hanna Montana days or on a Wrecking Ball?” 

    But what is a life if it’s not examined? Not picked apart? Not squeezed like an engorged tick in a ziplock baggie?

    tick

    I make cards between all of this productive introspection. Sometimes fictional creatures are harmed. Sometimes, they are spared.*getting oldMerry Christmas Eve-Eve!

  • Fairy Tales And True Tales

    The poor peasant said it best, “even if we had only one and it were quite small, and only as big as a thumb, I should be quite satisfied, and we would still love it with all our hearts.”

    If Fairy Tales were true, hedgehogs would speak and donkeys would spew gold. And poor old peasants could wish and receive tiny children.

    I wrote a Fairy Tale about an old childless couple and a duck. Inspired by true events. In the story, there is a duck, a baby, and an angry mob.

    But I’ve said too much!

    I’ll get that published someday but MEANWHILE here is a card for the new parent — it features a disgruntled chick.phew-you-arrived-chick

  • Umfa-Umfa and Itchy-Scratchy

    A long, long time ago, when men roamed the wild, with sharp spears and heavy stones, a discovery was made: A charred nub-of-a-stick was scraped against the wall to create a picture, a representation of reality — why? 

    The need to communicate visually is unique to humans (and some elephants).elephant painting elephantI wish I had a trunk.

    Here’s what I need to communicate visually:

    ugh.cave manugh.vomit

  • Doing Unspeakable Things With Type

    I regret not jumping into Lake Superior last week. I’m kidding, I don’t regret that. I regret not pushing that weird guy into Lake Superior last week. He was yelling, “the effing dog ate my pills! The effing dog ate my pills!” That poor wiener dog was trying to end its own sad life. Anyway, here’s a photo of Lucy and Jenny braving the frigid waters:

    jenny-lucy-superior

    Lake Superior is the poor man’s ocean, just like my Reprex

    reprex-crop

    (notice the vice grips)

    is the poor man’s Vandercook.

    vandercook2

    But I must make do.

    I must make do because that’s how I was programmed. The project du jour is a print involving lots of words. And because I’m a daredevil, I decided to lock up the type in a vertical formation. This is not for the faint of heart. The type and I both felt creepy when it was over and now we can’t even make eye contact.

    vertical-layout

    vertical-layout-close-up

    vertical-layout-super-close-up

  • The strong would survive the winter. The weak would, of course, be eaten.

    the-strong-would-survive-th

    The Long Winter is the true tale of a Minnesota family surviving one of the most brutal Winters in our recorded history. Trapped in the house – day after day after day – the blizzard makes it impossible to see out the window or even walk out to the barn without getting lost. Good ol’ Pa rigs up a rope to follow, he is always coming up with some creative solution! Ma follows that rope because Pa finds himself trapped in a ditch by the creek. The wood pile dwindles to nothing and the family is forced to twist hay into little bundles – they would burn these in the cast-iron stove to heat their little house. … Tough, brown bread is the only food left to eat.

    Or is it?

    What if that was on the jacket flap? I’d totally read that book.