Back to some normalcy… finally

I was able to print last week for the first time in many, many months. After a tumultuous year of anxiety, isolation and the pandemic, returning to the Center for Contemporary Printmaking (CCP) felt like coming home.

I first discovered CCP in Norwalk, CT over 20 years ago. Housed in a historic landmark 19th century stone carriage house, it is a dynamic, energy filled hub of all things printmaking. I took my first class there in monotype. I still remember entering the second-floor studio into a lofted, open-beamed space with rough stone walls, streaming light, the heady smell of ink, and the creaking sounds of well-worn, wide plank, hard wood floors. I remember thinking (at that time I had three young children at home) that I could be happy to simply sit in that space for hours at a time.

Instead, and very quickly, I was up to my elbows in ink, ideas, and exploration. Printmaking is a communal, often collaborative experience. I found and continue to feel a real community within those walls. There is a palpable energy, excitement, curiosity and open-mindedness to exploration and possibility. A true give and take between the printers, staff, members and visiting artists.

For the remainder of those first eight classes I always underestimated how long it would take to “just print these last few.” I always underestimated the time needed to clean up. And always, always I ended up calling my close friend to say “I’m running late… could you please hold onto my daughter for a bit longer” as I raced home on I-95, music blasting, windows cracked, tired but supremely happy.

Working small

CCP holds a Biennial International Miniature Print Competition and Exhibition. I find it incredibly satisfying to work on a miniature scale. I don’t have time to overthink, overwork or overdo. There is just so long I can fuss with 4 square inches of plexiglass plate. I use an indigo or Prussian blue with soft blacks to create evocative landscapes. I swipe or skitter the brayer across the plexiglass plate intending to create a certain mark, but the ink and my hand have their own ideas, and suddenly I am seeing naked winter trees, cast shadows and snow, pine trees, moons and shaded suns, marsh grass and shore edges. I lose myself in these tiny worlds. The smell of the ink, the “just right” hiss of the brayer roll kissing the inked palette, the feel of the press crank arm and the exhilaration as I lift first the blankets, then newsprint and finally the corner of the paper to reveal the result.

Immersed, the rest of the world fades to the background. My fingers are ink stained, smears have found their way to my cheek and inner arm, damp miniature prints are pressed between newsprint, newly created worlds have blossomed and revealed themselves. The whisperings of not-quite-there ideas hum and percolate, a quick try out of a nest here, and a vortex there. Swirls of inspiration and tentative ideas.

After blissful hours, I am back in my car, feeling sated. Exhausted yet with a sense of satisfaction and exhilaration. Windows cracked, music blasting, these many years later, still late speeding home on I-95.

View my print awarded first place in a 2020 exhibition and learn more about the Center for Contemporary Printmaking

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