Stop applauding! The spectacle is everywhere.
Paris grafitti 1968

Q. You're in Brighton. What's with the French posters?

A. The press is French and that's where my heart is

Here at last is the new letterpress poster - printed on Somerset Arches cotton rag mould made paper. I've used vintage wood type, and the ink is raw umber and rubine red. Each one is pressed individually. I can let you have one for £40 all in.

If you would like one, then please leave your details at:

thewirelesspress@gmail.com

Many thanks.

Making Friends With The Poster Press

I've been away for much of April - trips to London, Berlin and Girona. Each of these has been completely superb especially in terms of inspiration for making work -the most frustrating thing has been that I have nothing but a phone camera on which to take photographs. So I have been wandering around these cities and taking somewhat poor photographs of posters, billboards, signwriting and shop signs. In amongst this was a worry that I have this press, but what if I have nothing to say with it - I might return home in silence. On my return I had the good fortune to receive more type from Jeremy. I cannot believe my good fortune - he has been immensely generous and I am indebted to him. I have spent a few evenings sorting it and cleaning it - I get completely absorbed in it and find it really relaxing. The build up to printing has been the usual struggle with other jobs taking priority, but today - finally - I went in there and made a start. I have finally made a couple of roughs for a new poster; I'll post images once I have worked on it - when I am happy with it.

Voices

At 6am I am wide awake.
I take my girl on a road trip
in a big rented van.
She is 11 years old.

We sit up high and flick
all the new switches.
We are narked that
the radio doesn't work
and surprised that a new van
has a cassette player.
We are disappointed that
we didn't think to bring cassettes.
We wind the windows up and down
and flap about with the sun shades.
There are no mirrors on the back.

I turn on the engine and play with revs.
The van drinks vegetable oil.
We head off through town
and my girl detects the tremors
in my left knee.
She encourages me
And the shakes stop.

Driving a big van with this child
feels like an adventure.
It feels like mens work.
With knobs on.
We are kings of the road
masters of all we survey.
We are patronisingly appreciative
when car drivers give way to us.

We travel across the south east
talking with northern accents.
We are from Lancashire.
From Nelson.
We keep this up for the whole journey.

Thinking Out Loud

my first language is english
my second is silence

the spoken word came naturally
but attempting to decipher
the meaning of silence
has been all consuming
for a very long time

i listen out for it
and when i hear it coming
i catch it
hang it up and poke it
with a stick
and watch what happens next


i hear the silence
and i feel the weight
i can sniff out intonation
and nuance
and can translate these
into most languages


i am now an expert
and no longer need to second guess
i am writing up my research
compiling a silent reader (illustrated)


my next trick is being it