In the home of a master

Carrie is taking a class in letterpress and has a complicated project coming up that will require the creation of a hand cut linoleum illustration. She has, in this regard, what can been seen as a true gift. Her sense of composition and detail is lyrical and I know that her execution will be great. There was only one problem...

There were no tools to be had and there was no linoleum to use for the work to be carved from. This was a real poser. She went everywhere. She called everyone. She ordered from the internets. She would have to wait till tuesday. She does not wait well.

She called her guest lecturer, Carl Montford. Carl is a master woodcarver and letterpressman. He would know what to do. Perhaps he could help. It turned out he could.

Carl told her to come over, that he had things that she could borrow plates that she could use and return after the class. He would be happy to let her use his gouges and vee chisels, the linoleum block and the other tools needed to complete the project. Yes, she could come right over and pick them up.

She looked at me." You need to go too," She said. "You are going to really want to see this." I was not so sure. Well, I was sure that she was right, but I didn't know if I really wanted to leave the boat. I was feeling like being a homebody and having thoughts of a book and a blanket and some wine and some solitude. Still... a fine woodcarving expert and his letterpress shop did sound like a very nice diversion... I said "Okay." She said "I'll drive."

She drove.

We arrived and were met by two smallish fuzzy dogs who seemed like they were either trying to eat the glass between us or were really trying to rip our throats out in the nicest way possible. I wasn't too sure.

Carl showed up. There was no mistaking him. He could be seen as an artist, as a patient soul, as a craftsman. You could see it in his walk. The clothes he wore. His hands. He led us in and down to a room the with the footprint of the whole house. With giant full floor to ceiling windows along one whole side, and absolutely crammed with the most beautiful things I had seen in a long time.

There were presses, not just one or two, but ten, twenty maybe, of all different sizes and makes. There were cases and cases of type. Wooden type, metal type, mixed fonts and letters. Beautiful ornaments and decorative edges, leading and typesticks and furnature and, of course, there were woodcuts. The woodcuts were epic. Amazing illustrations of incredible precision and deft hand. They sopke to you from within frames and under glass. They peeked out around the corners and under the stacks of paper on which were printed messages and jokes. A riot of type and imaging from a time long before digital imaging and Adobe Garamond Pro. This was the land that time forgot. A playground for anachronism.


We played and talked and asked all the questions. He answered and showed and talked and laughed. He told us of his craft, gave us tips and told her she was going to do great. He talked about his great loves. His wife, the presses, the type, the fine lines of the wood as they are peeled from the blocks, the english boxwood that he uses to make the intricate carvings that make up his work. He was a most gracious accidental host. We were very happy to have come.

We said our goodbyes and took the tools he leant Carrie. We talked on the way home of the things we saw. We talked of how I would have never forgiven her if she had not insisted I come. How she would use the block and the tools to create the piece. we drove back to the boat to work...

There are many people that I have met in many ways in my life and they are always interesting but this was a good night.