In the age of Steve Jobs, it’s worth remembering Johannes Gutenberg. Before there was the iPad, between the time of stone tablets and the dot-matrix era, there was the letterpress. The old-fashioned metal-and-grease machine is one of the most aesthetically pleasing printing methods, and the tool of a thriving boutique profession in today’s digital world. One of its masters is Dan Morris, who runs The Arm letterpress studio in Brooklyn, N.Y.
As a kid, Morris was enamored with his grandfather’s printing presses in Findlay, Ohio. His grandfather’s company was eventually dismantled during the fall of the American rust belt — the majority of his printing business came from local behemoth Marathon Oil, which relocated to Houston in 1990 — but Morris’ interest never waned. “I originally got excited about it back in Annapolis,” the Maryland city his family had relocated to from Ohio, “where all my friends were musicians,” Morris told The Daily. “They all needed CD packaging and band posters. And I can’t play an instrument, so it was my piece of the puzzle.” He couldn’t get his hands on his grandfather’s presses — they were more for industrial purposes — but he set up a small personal print shop in Annapolis.
Then Morris packed up and bolted for Sydney, Australia, where he organized parties and events for five years. Upon his return to the States in 2005, getting his presses up and running was his first priority. He found a spot on a desolate street near the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. “When I got this place, the whole thing was one room with the garage,” Morris says, gesturing at the 1950s-era Vandercook presses and high ceilings. He fixed it up himself; the garage door is now a windowed storefront that fills the studio with light. “I was sleeping in the bathroom on a desk with a space heater, and I’d come out and do construction work during the day.”
Letterpressing involves movable type — different letters, images and typefaces made of wood or cast in metal — to create a relief print. It’s what you’ve seen in any old black-and-white film about newspapers, where cigarette-smoking reporters listen to the clacking machines in the newsroom. These days, it’s a popular way to make your own posters or design your band’s album art.
But it’s not all mustachioed baristas and tattooed drummers. In fact, a good portion of The Arm’s business comes from brides-to-be. “There’s a lot of wedding invitation stuff,” Morris said. “Some of the most obvious places to market this place turned out to draw that audience more than others.” Morris reflected on his original intentions, “It was Brooklyn! Williamsburg! It’s all bands and all this energy, but the people that would come through and use the space were printing wedding invitations.” In an attempt to broaden The Arm’s horizons, he started advertising on gigposters.com, bringing in more bearded guitarists to complement the D.I.Y. brides, which is exactly what Morris wanted — a blend of tastes on his presses.
The learning curve is not as steep or frustrating as with something like pottery or sculpture. Your first print might not end up in MoMA, but at least your friends or significant others won’t constantly kid you for making a ridiculously misshaped vase. “There’s a lot to learn, but my teaching method is, give the people what they need to get through a project and then if they want to further complicate their projects, then they can add more skills as they are needed,” Morris said of his classes. “I get people printing before I tell them about the parts of the press. It’s sort of the same way that a child learns their first language. It’s cumulative.”
The Arm’s business model is simple. Take one of Morris’ six-hour Sunday classes for $150 and learn how to use the presses. After you’ve learned the ropes, you can book the studio for $20 an hour or take a one-on-one class for $50 an hour. But Morris’ savviest business move was starting his newest class, whose signup fees directly fund a new collection of wood type. The actual type is not cheap, and Morris was having trouble justifying spending more cash on equipment that would not have a direct return. He initially kicked in “a couple thousand” to spring for some new wood type, and only those who have taken the class get access to it. “Moving forward, as I run that class more, the money will continue to go into buying more type for the collection,” Morris said. Taking the class is an investment in itself. “It’s sort of a direct way for the users to build their own collection right here in-house.”
The Arm is just one of many small letterpress studios across the country. Cities such as Detroit, Minneapolis and Los Angeles have plenty of studios in the same mold. Power and Light Press in Portland, Ore., even built a small studio in a truck, which is making stops at art studios, farmers markets and art fairs across the country.
While The Arm is at what Morris called a “break-even” point right now — he teaches letterpress classes at the Cooper Union in Manhattan for “financial balance” — Morris remains optimistic about the future of The Arm and of letterpress studios in general. “Some people just come in and take pictures for their blog. They print some funny things, they give them to their friends, and then it’s done,” he said of his typical Sunday classes. “And that was their interest, that’s what they wanted to do, they wanted to spend their Sunday taking a class doing something they’d never done before, which is great. But if all the days were like that, then this place couldn’t be. As time went on and we ran some more classes, there were more and more people who were serious about it, and they now run their businesses out of here or run a design practice and offer printing services as an extension of that.”
As a kid, Morris was enamored with his grandfather’s printing presses in Findlay, Ohio. His grandfather’s company was eventually dismantled during the fall of the American rust belt — the majority of his printing business came from local behemoth Marathon Oil, which relocated to Houston in 1990 — but Morris’ interest never waned. “I originally got excited about it back in Annapolis,” the Maryland city his family had relocated to from Ohio, “where all my friends were musicians,” Morris told The Daily. “They all needed CD packaging and band posters. And I can’t play an instrument, so it was my piece of the puzzle.” He couldn’t get his hands on his grandfather’s presses — they were more for industrial purposes — but he set up a small personal print shop in Annapolis.
Then Morris packed up and bolted for Sydney, Australia, where he organized parties and events for five years. Upon his return to the States in 2005, getting his presses up and running was his first priority. He found a spot on a desolate street near the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. “When I got this place, the whole thing was one room with the garage,” Morris says, gesturing at the 1950s-era Vandercook presses and high ceilings. He fixed it up himself; the garage door is now a windowed storefront that fills the studio with light. “I was sleeping in the bathroom on a desk with a space heater, and I’d come out and do construction work during the day.”
Letterpressing involves movable type — different letters, images and typefaces made of wood or cast in metal — to create a relief print. It’s what you’ve seen in any old black-and-white film about newspapers, where cigarette-smoking reporters listen to the clacking machines in the newsroom. These days, it’s a popular way to make your own posters or design your band’s album art.
But it’s not all mustachioed baristas and tattooed drummers. In fact, a good portion of The Arm’s business comes from brides-to-be. “There’s a lot of wedding invitation stuff,” Morris said. “Some of the most obvious places to market this place turned out to draw that audience more than others.” Morris reflected on his original intentions, “It was Brooklyn! Williamsburg! It’s all bands and all this energy, but the people that would come through and use the space were printing wedding invitations.” In an attempt to broaden The Arm’s horizons, he started advertising on gigposters.com, bringing in more bearded guitarists to complement the D.I.Y. brides, which is exactly what Morris wanted — a blend of tastes on his presses.
The learning curve is not as steep or frustrating as with something like pottery or sculpture. Your first print might not end up in MoMA, but at least your friends or significant others won’t constantly kid you for making a ridiculously misshaped vase. “There’s a lot to learn, but my teaching method is, give the people what they need to get through a project and then if they want to further complicate their projects, then they can add more skills as they are needed,” Morris said of his classes. “I get people printing before I tell them about the parts of the press. It’s sort of the same way that a child learns their first language. It’s cumulative.”
The Arm’s business model is simple. Take one of Morris’ six-hour Sunday classes for $150 and learn how to use the presses. After you’ve learned the ropes, you can book the studio for $20 an hour or take a one-on-one class for $50 an hour. But Morris’ savviest business move was starting his newest class, whose signup fees directly fund a new collection of wood type. The actual type is not cheap, and Morris was having trouble justifying spending more cash on equipment that would not have a direct return. He initially kicked in “a couple thousand” to spring for some new wood type, and only those who have taken the class get access to it. “Moving forward, as I run that class more, the money will continue to go into buying more type for the collection,” Morris said. Taking the class is an investment in itself. “It’s sort of a direct way for the users to build their own collection right here in-house.”
The Arm is just one of many small letterpress studios across the country. Cities such as Detroit, Minneapolis and Los Angeles have plenty of studios in the same mold. Power and Light Press in Portland, Ore., even built a small studio in a truck, which is making stops at art studios, farmers markets and art fairs across the country.
While The Arm is at what Morris called a “break-even” point right now — he teaches letterpress classes at the Cooper Union in Manhattan for “financial balance” — Morris remains optimistic about the future of The Arm and of letterpress studios in general. “Some people just come in and take pictures for their blog. They print some funny things, they give them to their friends, and then it’s done,” he said of his typical Sunday classes. “And that was their interest, that’s what they wanted to do, they wanted to spend their Sunday taking a class doing something they’d never done before, which is great. But if all the days were like that, then this place couldn’t be. As time went on and we ran some more classes, there were more and more people who were serious about it, and they now run their businesses out of here or run a design practice and offer printing services as an extension of that.”
PHOTO: Bryan Derballa for The Daily
Graphic designer Jarrod Baretto removes a print from the letterpress at The Arm.
PHOTO: Bryan Derballa for The Daily
Ink containers wait of the shelf at The Arm.
