Finlay Press is a private press established by Ingeborg Hansen and Phil Day. They began printing in Goulburn, NSW, Australia in 1997. In 2001 the press moved to Braidwood, NSW, where they designed and printed numerous publications before closing the press in 2009.

Hansen and Day were graduates of the Graphic Investigation Workshop (GIW) at the Canberra School of Art (now ANU School of Art), where they studied under Petr Herel and Peter Finlay. Herel, an advocate of the artist book, head lecturer of the GIW, and founder of the Artist Book Studio (ABS, est. 1994), and Finlay, a compositor and printer by trade, both inspired Hansen and Day to continue making books after their graduation. Finlay’s name was chosen for their press name largely because of Finlay’s life-long involvement in letterpress printing; he started as an apprentice compositor then worked professionally as a printer, a teacher of all aspects of book production in numerous technical colleges, and he assisted other private press printers including Alec Bolton in the early days of Brindabella Press – a role in private press productions that Hansen and Day thought would otherwise be overlooked.

Hansen and Day’s first collaborative book was Imaginary Thoughts and Their Beings (1995), printed in the ABS. Hansen supplied a prose poem while Day supplied eight etchings. Earlier books by Hansen were often unique copies featuring her own writing, some including textiles for pages, most of them letterpress printed onto cheap coloured papers. Day’s earlier books were more typical hand-made book productions utilizing tradition printmaking and letterpress techniques printed onto art papers.  In 1996 Hansen and Day collaborated on a zine called PAB (taking its name from the initials of the French poet Pierre Albert-Birot), and invited others to contribute to each issue. There were 3 issues in an edition of 100 each. In 1996 the Artists Book Studio was separated from the Graphic Investigation Workshop to make an independent studio space. Herel chose to stay with the GIW. The ABS was renamed the Edition and Artist Book Studio (E+ABS) and was headed by Diane Fogwell. The E+ABS employed Day as its first printer and binder. Hansen was also employed as a printer for some titles. By late 1996 Hansen and Day had started gathering equipment to found a press. By 1997 they had printed their first title Burly Gryphon, dedicated to ‘Peter and Petr’ (Finlay and Herel) under the press name Finlay Press.

Finlay Press set out to work with authors and artists domiciled in Australia. The press wanted to establish a close working relationship with its contributors. Some authors, such as Gary Catalano, Julian Davies, and Robin Wallace-Crabbe had more than one title published; Wallace-Crabbe also contributed as a visual artist to three book titles, one folio, and a broadsheet.

The earlier books were printed under the imprint Yabber Yabber Publications as a publishing arm of Finlay Press. The publishing arrangements were simple: Finlay Press supplied half the money for the edition, and the remaining contributors supplied the other half, making all contributors publishers of the title. The finances were used solely for covering the cost of paper, nothing else. Once the edition was completed Finlay Press retained half the edition and the remainder were divided equally among the contributors. Hansen and Day closed Yabber Yabber Publications to gain complete control over all aspects of each title knowing that this would allow them to create a house style and print larger runs, and further books used the imprint Finlay Press.

Early titles from Finlay Press were printed in small runs ranging between twelve to thirty copies (with the exception of one title, The Seven Proses, which ran to two hundred copies). These early books were experimental in binding and layout, but were always true to the traditional notions of a book. Conscious of contemporary changes in paper, inks, bindings and printing techniques, Hansen and Day continued to find a way to a house style suitable for editions of over one hundred that was affordable on both money and time.

Later titles, editions between 25 to 150 copies, were printed and bound with a firm house style. Each publication used Magnani paper folded on the fore-edge, stitched with a Japanese binding and bound with a French false cover, then inserted into a slip case made from cardboard (usually a kraft stock). Some titles employed a concertina fold. Almost all titles were printed letterpress using hand-set Baskerville (with the exception of titling). The first title printed in the house style was Light and Water: Forty Prose Poems 1980-1999 (2002).

One later title deviated from the house style: Goodbye Eggcup. Two titles, I’ll Build You a Stairway to Paradise and Day by Day didn’t sit comfortably within the house style. I’ll Build You a Stairway to Paradise, a poem by Hartmann Wallis, is about a girl who is the sexual desire of an art student. It is accompanied with a lithograph by Day containing overtly sexual images, and the slip case is drawn on (not printed) with a felt pen; neither the subject nor use of felt pen comfortably sit with the printed nature of previous titles. Day by Day, a collection of poems by Pierre Albert-Birot, translated by James Grieve, is given a similar treatment. Its brightly-coloured card slipcases have more in common with Hansen’s pre-Finlay Press titles, and Day’s use of potato prints rather than ‘fine’ press techniques was unusual for the Press. One of the poems, ‘St Vincent’s Day’, is clearly not a Birot poem. It is most likely an original composition by Grieve. The production and content of Day by Day still fits with the Finlay Press house style, but the aforementioned details of the book, while still reserved, show the beginning of an abandonment of the house style. Day by Day was to be the last title published by Finlay Press.

By 2005 Hansen and Day wanted to print lengthy prose, particularly fiction, in higher editions, but the practicalities of doing this with hand-set type was simply not possible due to time, and limited type stock. James Grieve approached Finlay Press with the possibility of printing a novel; using linotype was the only possibility, but this didn’t solve the problem of binding approximately 500 copies. The solution was to create a new publishing arm. Hansen and Day discussed these ideas with Julian Davies and Robin Wallace-Crabbe (two author/artists they had already collaborated with) and enthused by the idea of independent publishing they founded Finlay Lloyd. The name Finlay, again, came from Peter Finlay and was retained from Finlay Press, and Lloyd was the name of Davies’s father, a man who had little interest in books. The first title, a collection of essays loosely discussing the fate of the book and literature titled When Books Die could be seen as a loose-fitting manifesto; it was released in 2006.

As mentioned before, the press disbanded in 2009.

ALL IMAGES BELOW ARE CONTENT © INGEBORG HANSEN & PHIL DAY, FINLAY PRESS. The copies are mine, and the images themselves are © Ampersand Duck.

Bibliography (basic, will add to it as more details come to light)

Early editions (Yabber Yabber, individual designs)

Burly Gryphon (1997)
- Ingeborg Hansen (prose)
- Phil Day (etchings)

Hungry Magpies (1997)
- Bernard Hardy (poetry)
- Ingeborg Hansen (lino cut, wood engraving)
- Phil Day (etchings)

Bomber (1997)
- Emma Veal (poem)
- Phil Day (etching)

Offerings (1997)
- G. W. Bot (poem, lino cuts)
- Ingeborg Hansen (binding)

Fth (1998)
- James Pollock (short story)
- Ingeborg Hansen (lino cuts)
- Phil Day (etchings)

The Last Lost Doughnut (1998)
- Robin Wallace-Crabbe (play)
- Ingeborg Hansen (typography)
- Virginia Wallace-Crabbe (bichromate photographs)
- Phil Day (lino cut paper masks)

Pandora’s Cat (2000)
- Robin Wallace-Crabbe (poem)
- Ingeborg Hansen (typography)
- Katie Clemson (lino cut)

Formingle
- Craig Charlton (musical composition)
- Kirsten Wolf (handmade paper)
- Phil Day (etching)

I, I Am, A Blind Man (1999)
- Petr Herel (etchings)

Household: Eleven Poems (1998)
- Gary Catalano (poems, lino cuts)
- Robin Wallace-Crabbe (lino cuts)
- Ingeborg Hansen (lino cuts)
- Phil Day (lino cuts)

Jabberwocky
- Julian McLucas

The Seven Proses (2000)
- Bernard Hardy (poems, wood engravings)

Finlay Press (with a house style)

Light and Water: Forty Prose Poems (2002)
- Gary Catalano (poetry)
- Robin Wallace-Crabbe (etchings and lino cut)

Pile of Hair (2003)
- Julian Davies (short story)
- John Pratt (etchings and woodcuts)
- Phil Day (Monotypes)

Through Hoops (2005)
- Gina Dow (poetry)
- Phil Day (copper engravings and linocut)
- Ingeborg Hansen (wood engravings)

Familiar Objects (2005)
- Phil Day (essay, lithography – some copies hand-coloured)

Goodbye Eggcup (2006)
- Phil Day (poetry, copper engraving, collograph)

Cat’s Eye (2008)
- Julian Davies (short story)
- Phil Day (copper plate engravings and monotype)

I’ll Build A Stairway To Paradise (2008)
- Hartmann Wallis (poetry)
- Phil Day (lithography)

Day By Day (2009)
- James Grieve (translations of Pierre Albert Birot poems)
- Phil Day (potato prints)

Print Folios

Top Ten Twentieth Century Monsters
- Phil Day (lino cut, copper engraving,  monotype)

Four Men and Their Ideas on the Erotic
- Ingeborg Hansen (lino cut)
- Robin Wallace-Crabbe (photo etching)
- Robert Jones (lino cut)
- Julian Davies (monotype)
- Phil Day (copper engraving)

Broadsheet

An Egyptian
- Hartmann Wallis (poem)
- Robin Wallace-Crabbe (etchings)

If your browser won’t load the image, click here to be taken to the digital file.

The hard copy is 240 x 92mm, printed on two weights of Kraft paper and hand-sewn in a horizontal format. If you would like to purchase a copy, wave your mouse over the top of this page to find the red drop-down Duckshop link. Or contact me directly.

For images of the production, have a look at my letterpress flickr set. For the story of its production, click here.

Otherwise:

The ANU School of Art has a special place in my heart. It, along with the Australian National University in general, is one of my life’s sacred sites. Way before I ever thought of going there (when I was doing an Arts degree in very non-art subjects), I lived in group houses with art students and earned money there by life modelling. When I discovered that they had a great letterpress set-up, and that letterpress was my destiny (it was really like that: a major epiphany weekend), I went to night classes at the school to build up a portfolio, and then I went to the school itself as a student. Straight after graduating, I was hired by the bit of the school that has a letterpress studio and I’ve been there ever since, teaching and helping. I even design their promotional flyers, some years.

Every year I see students that I think would be fun to work with. Sometimes they’ve been in one of my classes, sometimes I’ve just seen their work around the school and thought that it would translate well to print. That’s why I decided to join the Emerging Artist Support Scheme (EASS) which the school has in place to help students transition to a world without art school.

EASS is a bundle of fun, ranging from international scholarships to cash prizes to residencies. There are also collectors who happily use the scheme to get first pick of the work in the graduating exhibition, and they pay a premium on the prices to help with the cash prizes.

My contribution is a residency in my studio to make a letterpress broadside. Originally I thought that these would be very traditional in format: a piece of text either rendered completely typographically on the page or accompanied with imagery. The more it progresses, the less I care about the traditional idea. What I seem to be doing is giving these people access to my equipment with a ration of paper and seeing what happens — the only mandantory aspect is that they have to finish with an edition that can be sold (with the proceeds split between us). So it’s become more of a letterpress print residency, really.

So far I’ve had 4 ex-students, with two of those working with me as I write this, so I’m not totally sure what they are producing, but the experiments so far have been wonderful. I also keep aside ten copies of the edition for a future folio / exhibition pack. Each person also gets a letter outlining what they’ve achieved and the skills they’ve acquired, so that they can apply to use letterpress equipment elsewhere. I think it’s a pretty good deal.

If you’re interested in what we’re doing, buy a print, they’re all available at the Duckshop (to get there, hover your mouse up there on the web header, you’ll find a drop-down box that will take you to it) and very reasonably priced. Each print sale lifts the confidence of the resident who made it, and encourages me to keep doing this. Or if you’d like to be an EASS patron yourself, click that link at the top of this page and get involved. It’s a lot of fun and satisfaction.

List of recipients to date:

2010
Natalie Azzopardi
Peter McLean

2011
Helani Laisk
Jonathan Webster

Unlike other years, when artists had to apply with a fully-formed idea, this time we were encouraged only to talk about our general practice and what we thought about making art with early learners, and then the final project would be fully negotiated between the artist and the school. Obviously I did ok with my pitch, and I have to mention here the help I got from my wonderful friend Amelia, who works professionally with art and children. Then I sat down with the OCS headmistress, Margaret, and her sidekick, Bec, and we nutted out a really fun project called POSTMARK MAIL ART. I always write it in caps, because it just needs to be shouted to the roof.

Here is nearly the whole school population (bar the preschoolers), ready to go for their weekly run up the park behind their schoolyard (they’re in training for the Canberra Fun Run, but they don’t know it yet). I’d just been to their assembly, where I’d talked to them about sending postcards and other things through the mail. Ready, set, GO!

Originally I’d wanted to print the backs of the postcards with a commercially-produced polymer plate (which included all the logos etc that needed to be included) and then the kids would make their own solar plates & print the fronts; this was all well & good until I did some test plates and discovered that the solar plates just didn’t work well with water-based inks, and I didn’t want them wallowing in oil-based ink.

So. I had a frenzied rethink, and went back to an earlier notion of combining letterpress and other, simpler techniques, and I’m glad I have now, because it’s allowing a lot more play and experimentation. I’m still doing the backs with a plate, but the rest is much more tactile.

This week we started printing. I took in my tabletop Adana platen press and a tray of type (48p Gill) and a pre-set chase ready to slot in their names. I set up my ‘printshop’ outside under cover in the playground (because we are using oil-based ink for this phase and it smells), and each child comes to me and sets their name themselves, then I put the chase in the press and I help them work the lever to print the cards.

They are printing an edition of four cards each: one for posting, one for keeping, and one for the school to keep. The fourth one is a spare one, to practice and allow for mistakes. The school copies will be bound together using a single coptic binding into a souvenir of the experience. I’ll get the kids to write a sentence on those ones on what they liked about the process.

Here’s some progress shots:

This is me in my printer’s hat. Every day I make a new one out of newspaper, and I wear it in the printshop, and the most enthusiastic child (or the one who remembers to ask at the end of the day) gets to take it home to keep. I look a bit sombre, but that’s because I’d given my camera to one of the children to shoot me, and I had no control over when he took the shot. I hadn’t smiled yet! The hat isn’t an affectation; it’s a very practical and cheap way of keeping stray bits of hair off your face and out of the ink. I haven’t perfected the size yet; the pattern allows you to adjust the size to fir anyone, and that day’s hat was a bit high, they’re meant to sit about halfway along your forehead (if you click on that printer’s hat link, you’ll see what I mean).

Here’s Ruby, selecting her name from my typecase. The kids love this bit, and are quite intrigued by the backwardness of it all.

And then she puts her name into the allotted spot in the chase, and I put it into the press.

And here’s Oscar, having just printed his second postcard. I set it up with the name in one corner, and a few stars in the diagonally opposite corner to balance the pressure. What child doesn’t like stars? They will fill the rest of the space with more basic printmaking later in the term.

So that’s where I’m up to; I’ve printed with about a third of the children to date, and because it work with them one on one, I get some marvellous conversations about type, printing, names, hats, pets, Christmas carols, and whatever else pops into their heads.

And the energy! I so admire those teachers; I’m already exhausted!

When we started talking about his residency, he had no idea about what text to use, and he’s not much of a poetry reader. I’d just come back from New Zealand loaded with new poetry books and experiences of meeting poets in the wild. I’d been introduced to a poet called Brian Turner who wasn’t part of my posse of Otakou poets, but who had impressed me with his love of the landscape and his intolerance of fools. I was introduced to him before I’d seen an excellent poem of his in the local paper, and before I’d bought his latest volume of poems, Just This, so I didn’t get a chance to admire his work to his face. Soon after I bought his book, it won the NZ Book of the Year poetry section for 2010.

So I threw Brian’s book and David Campbell’s Collected (DC was a fine Australian poet who wrote primarily of the local Canberra/Monaro region) at Pete and sent him away. Brian won, and so we had a text, his poem ‘Sky’. It was delight to write to Brian asking him permission to reproduce the poem and to tell him what I thought of him, and even more of a delight that he readily gave us permission.

Time slipped by, but I knew the project was brewing, and Pete and I saw each other regularly at his workplace, Megalo, and at various openings, so there was always a chance to discuss progress. Finally we found a time to work together, mostly impelled by his impending residency deadline.

Pete had the idea of combining a manufactured wood engraving block (made of small blocks of boxwood joined together to make a larger block) with print from a found piece of wood. The poem ponders over what the sky would do if it could observe what we humans get up to down here, and so there are two levels of image: the natural sky and the human-meddled earth.

In Pete’s composition, the ‘sky’ is actually the manufactured block, and the ‘ground’ is the natural print. We have used a combination of Baskerville and Imprint Outline for the text, and the paper is Iwaki washi, which is a lovely light and yellowy paper that makes black ink look stunning.

The broadside is now editioned and ready to sell — it is a limited edition of no more than 50, so if you would like a copy, get in touch quickly, as I think it will sell fast. The details and price are listed at the foot of this post.

But first, some images:

This is the piece of log that Pete has painstakingly cut & mounted, ready to be hand-printed. It was too big to fit on the press! He worked out a process of folding the foot of the sheets to mask off bits of the log, which we then cut off before printing the rest on the press.

Here he is, in Studio Duck, folding a test piece before hand-printing it. You can’t tell, but it was very cold in the studio that day.

Here are the offcuts. We are going to take half each, and see what we each come up with.

This is the wood engraving block, exquisitely engraved, but not inked. While I set up the press and type and pulled some proofs, Pete prepared paper and continued hand-printing his log.

The text and the block, locked up in a chase on the press, ready to roll (see, I can use a cliche here and it actually MEANS something).

Oops! The block was too high here, there are bits showing that are unwelcome. We have packed little slips of paper under parts of the block, but there are obviously too many. It’s amazing the difference a small piece of bond paper makes.

We adjusted the packing, and the block printed perfectly. We used Neil Wallace Wood Engraving Ink, it’s lovely and stiff on the press. We had to touch up the type slightly with a hand roller at each pass, but that is so much easier, quicker and more accurate than faffing with the block each time.

Woo hoo! The print up on the pinboard at bon a tire stage (ready to print). We are jubilant. Pete stayed up late that night finishing the log prints at Megalo.

A couple of days later, the log prints are almost dry (such oily ink takes a long time to dry in Winter, so these are touch dry, but if you rub them, they smear) and we can edition what is on the press.

The more good ones we print, the happier we are.

Once we’d printed what we thought was enough (we’re not sure how many will make it to the final edition, but we managed about 60 all up), Pete pulled an edition of just the cloud, for his exhibition.

So. Here are the broadside details:

Peter McLean, Sky, 2011.
Poetry by Brian Turner, from Just This (NZ: Victoria University Press, 2009)
Wood engraving, letterpress and direct print from found wood on Iwaki washi (paper).
c. 505 x 234mm
Edition of c. 50
$100 each plus postage & handling

These broadsides will be available at the Duckshop from late July, but if you would like to pre-order, please email ampersandduck {at} gmail {dot} com.

(There are still copies of Natalie Azzopardi’s Game Over series available to buy as well!)

Once I got thinking and printing, I was hooked.  So, I present to you my first line of letterpress cards, sold exclusively at the Craft ACT shop:

White Light: a vintage letterpress cut and 36pt Latin Elongated typeface, printed in pewter ink on Fabriano Tiepolo paper and accompanied by a metallic pewter envelope. 140 x 140mm. Limited edition of 45 prints.

Black Light: a vintage letterpress cut and 36pt Latin Elongated typeface, printed in silver ink on Black cardstock and accompanied by a Marshmallow white envelope. 140 x 140mm. Limited edition of 50 prints.

Sorry Tree: wood type printed in a metallic brown ink onto a hand-rolled sea-green background ‘smudge’, printed on Fabriano Tiepolo paper and accompanied by a recycled brown envelope. 140 x 140mm. Limited edition of 40 prints.

Mulberry Love : 2-colour wood type print in orange and mulberry, printed on Fabriano Tiepolo paper and accompanied by a metallic moss envelope. 140 x 140mm. Limited edition of 45 prints.

Aren’t they nice? Each edition is limited, meaning that if I use that design again, it will be in a completely different colour run. Hopefully they won’t last long, so don’t miss out…

Update
A Christmas card, printed on Rives BFK paper:

and a general lovey-dove one, perhaps for Valentine’s Day but pretty much useable anytime if you make the inscription what you need it to be (I tend to use ‘MWAH MWAH’, which turns it into friendly air-kissing!)

‘Lippy Kiss’ comes with a black envelope. The colours have been custom-mixed directly on the press rollers, just like hand-mixing your own blend of lipstick!

I love these themed exhibitions, because it makes me think outside my box, so to speak. Like with Call of the Small, or The Hankie Project.

In this case, I’d just finished printing my second Book Art Object piece, in cyan, magenta and yellow, and had a whole pile of offset paper in all three colours. Cyan is such a marvellous sky blue, and the idea of a hanging book made me want to think about why it would be hanging from above.

I don’t know about you, but if something awful or embarrassing happens to me, I don’t want the ground to open and swallow me up — imagine the weight of all that earth. No, I’d rather something or someone plucked me upwards and allowed me to float in the clouds for a while, above all the problems, until they went away.

And that’s why this book was made. It’s called Skyhooks.

The orange line you can see is my makeshift hanging line from when I tested the look of it hanging.

I had enough of the offset paper to make two of these, so it’s an ‘edition’ of two, but they’re quite individual.

Catch them at The Left Hand, for three weekends through December 2010.

The words to Grieving go:

Friends die, one after another;
Each time a dark disorder
A ceaseless banging of shutters

Upstairs there, in the mind;
Bearing of wings, loud weather
Days, nights together.

To force on the mind order:
Journeys taken on maps,
Attentive delving into

The roots of the language.
A search for the true invention
Of form by line in drawing.

Also, renewal of linen—
Keeping the old customs
Putting sides to middles.

Thus, mind and hand stilled
And with a gentler grief
To draw down the blind

The white holland blind
Like a banner of love
Against that wild confusion.

(© the poet, published in Rosemary Dobson, Poems to Hold or Let Go, Canberra: Ampersand Duck, 2009)

There are so many great ideas in there that translate to paper: language, drawing, form, line, linen (or in this case, rag), folding, ritual, the mindfulness of repetitive movement and simple motions.

I decided to make something out of this forlorn and seductive pile of paper, and once I started working with it, I couldn’t stop. My solo exhibition at Megalo Print Access in September 2009, Pressings: Recycled Bookwork, had four pieces made from this one pile of poem, grouped into two pairs:

This is all four pieces (or both pairs) in situ at Megalo, although the one on the far left (in the foreground, not on the wall on the left, which is a completely different work altogether) is cut off. The first two are plinth works, made of small geometric folded elements that can be reconfigured in various ways depending upon mood, inclination and plinth size.

Grieving 1: Folding the Sheets and Sides to Middles

This is Grieving: Folding the Sheets. All of the pieces shift incrementally in size, and the largest, single centrepiece has an inky black centre made from overlaid black inked fingerprints.

Here’s a closer, vertical view. You can see the text of the poem, again and again, alternating in direction, forming a rhythm.

This is the piece that was hiding in the room view above: Grieving: Sides to Middles. These folded elements of paper are not hand-inked, but run through the press rollers at the end of printing, which gave them a very light, even, almost gauze-like black texture.

Folding sides to middles is an old laundry ritual, where worn sheets would be cut in half and resewing them with the less worn edges now in the centre, where they would get more wear. It is also a very evocative line for me when working with paper, either folding sheets (of paper) for bookbinding or when using origami methods.

Grieving 2: Hold and Let Go

The second pair is quite different, and is site specific, although it could probably be installed again at any other gallery that has white walls

This is Grieving: Hold, and it is a unique piece constructed from a vintage book spine, antique thread (bought still on its Victorian-era factory bobbin) and pieces of the poem. It is mounted on a metal rod that inserts into the wall, and you can view it from both sides.

This is the obverse side. It’s very hard to photograph. Here’s a detail of that page panel, handsewn:

I love the shadow of the text on the other side.

Grieving: Let Go, it’s companion piece, is much freer. It is another work that can change shape at will. This time it was a tree of kites taking off from a book spine, but maybe in the future it can be something else:

Another one that is hard to photograph.

It was very meditative and calming to make these works. A few months later, I made a final Grieving work, and now I think I’ve redeemed that printing mistake, well and truly.

These works are all for sale or available for exhibition. If you are interested, please get in contact.

If you’d like to see the process of putting the exhibition together, and all the wonderful studio visits made by Anna-Maria to the craftspeople involved, here’s a link to all of her posts on the subject.

THE SERIES

These letters do not spell anything out deliberately; they were chosen to go with the images, which are little metal ornaments that I bought from eBay years ago. Feel free to make them spell things; Anna-Maria made them spell R&D in the show, others may want the word FORD, or maybe your name is DROF. Heh. The letters are 72pt Gill Sans, printed in a bright sexy red. All have little hand-filed deckles at the head and tail, and are numbered and signed.

Each of these is 45 x 32 mm in dimension, so you’re probably looking at them at a larger scale (which won’t do them any favours).

They’re not really meant to be lined up together, so I didn’t put a lot of effort into making the height of AMPERSAND DUCK match up. I designed each one as an individual, taking into account the balance of each image on the ‘page’.

Edition numbers are:

D: Dragonfly — 20

O: Owl — 20

R: Rat — 20

&: Ampersand — 10

F: Frog: 20

They are all still available.

THE OTHERS

Speaks for itself.

45 x 32mm, in an edition of 9. Still available.

Hammer Time. Hand-coloured.

55 x 32mm. Edition of 6. Still available.

Almost Ace. I just love this one. In amongst a box of miscellaneous letterpress stuff was this tiny little logo with the letters ACF, and I’ve looked at it for years wondering if anything could be done with it or should I just chuck it. One day… BING! I saw the way forward.

Printed on red Japanese washi, 42 x 30mm. Edition of 11. Still available.

All of these broadsides are Aus$10 each plus p&h.