synaesthesia press

It ain’t really all that it’s cracked up to be…at least not weather wise. Cold and rainy and cold and windy, but hey, it’s Paris, and I’m OK with that.

Mainly cause it keeps the vast majority of tourists out of here for another few weeks, which meant I only spent 10 minutes (or so) waiting to get into the d’Orsay…which ruled. Cause come May — and certainly by June — that line is an easy hour.

I hit Shakespeare & Co. first thing each and every time I come to Paris. It’s the bookstore I love to hate. But I really don’t hate it.

As it stands now, this is not where Sylvia Beach published James Joyce; in fact, the original store owned by Beach was closed by WWII. Beach did give George Whitman permission to use the name, and the first time I went to Paris (May of 97) George was behind the counter, and I gave him a few copy of Blessing Poems, The Mollifier, and maybe The Man With The Buzzer in his Throat.

“If you want to put a few of these on your shelf, I’d appreciate it. And you don’t have to pay me anything for them…just take them, and if you actually sell them, that’s great.”

George looked at them, and he thanked me, and then he asked, “Would you like to stay here? I’ve got some room for you upstairs.”

It’s true. Up in his lending library he maintained a few beds where he let people crash. Still happens to this day.

I was very grateful, but I passed. I had a place nearby. The idea certainly appealed to me, though, and I wish I woulda taken him up on it now. But I didn’t.

George is in his mid-nineties now, and he’s retired, and his daughter — Sylvia Beach Whitman — runs the joint. Which is why I say it’s the store I love to hate. Cause she’s turned it into a trendy tourist attraction. When I walked in yesterday, there was a photographer snapping pics of Sylvia Whitman, while one of her employees played piano to the oogling tourists…who have no idea about George, or the store’s history, or Sylvia Beach.

I sound like a book snob. And an asshole. Besides, the place is way cleaner than it was the first time I shopped there, and the rare book room really has rare books in it; I bet the store does better than it ever has, so I’ll shut the fuck up.

And talk about the booksellers on the Seine.

Cause I love them.

They set up shop right there on the Seine in these little green lock box / kiosks. Some of them peddle silly trinkets like little plastic Eiffel Tower statues and t-shirts; others have really interesting books and records. Some peddle porn, comics, and plates from from old books; there’s vellum pages from Bibles Monks copies by hand and great old French jazz magazines.

I want to sell books out of one of those little green kiosks along the Seine, where I can sip lattes all day long while I watch the girls walk along the river.

Since emerging from my hiatus, I just learned Larry Hyde passed away.

I found out about Larry’s passing from this PBA Gallery auction…not the best way to learn of a friend’s passing, but what is?

I never met the man face-to-face, but we maintained a correspondence.

His letters of encouragement and his praise of my work meant a lot to me.

Larry Hyde was a friend and a patron of the arts and I will miss him very much.

The rollers — inked white.

The type, too.

I just pulled 120 (give or take) colophons for Volta, and it’s something I haven’t done in a long, long time.

Print, that is.

I haven’t really talked a lot about what I do to make my money, but trust me, it isn’t making little magazines to send out gratis to friends of the synaesthesia press, and it’s not making and selling letterpress books; it’s not selling collectible books, either. And while I’m not going into specifics here, I will say this: I’m self-employed, and have a few clients, and every single day I wake up and worry my clients are going to fire me, and I’ll wind up in the soup line.

I guess the only consolation there is I won’t be the only one.

So, for the past 6 years — give or take — I’ve been busting ass to make those clients pleased as punch. It’s kept me fed, and I’m lucky enough to have a few bucks in the bank, but the synaesthesia press suffered.

All work and no play makes Jim a dull boy. An unhappy one, too. And what’s more fun than setting type, prepping the make-ready, pulling proofs, and making a book?

Well…to me, nothing.

It was kinda comforting to realize printing is a lot like riding a bike. I mean I was rusty, but overall things went without a hitch.

For the most part.

I have some black Somerset scraps left from another project I’m working on, and those turned into the colophon broadside / page for this installment of Volta. You already know I printed them in white ink, and, well…they turned out kinda squishy.

My proofs were sweet…but it was a hard paper, red ink, and that ain’t the same.

Things shoulda turned out the way the proofs did…but that wasn’t the case. They’re still nice…but far from perfect.

Like I said — kinda squishy. And a hint uneven. At least under my loop they are.

Oh well. I needed to get the job done, and done they are. Tomorrow I start addressing them for the US Mails.

Which is part of what I’m gonna call “The Volta Experience”. You probably know I’m a Wallace Berman nut, and part of Semina was that it simply arrived in your mailbox. You couldn’t buy one (well, that’s not entirely true; I’ve read Berman would drop some off at City Lights from time to time).

Same goes for Volta.

That, and who knows just how it’s going to actually show up in your box? Will the US Postmaster and its shiny machinery smoosh your copy to bits? Will your postman fold it in half and stuff it into your box?

Or will it arrive at your home just the same way it left my studio?

Oh, the anticipation…

Instead of writing on one topic, why not cover a whole bunch of shit today?

I set the colophon for Volta. I like the way it came out, for the most part. I’m limited with Volta cause it’s made from scrap papers — old projects, mainly. That’s part of what keeps my cost down making them, which is a good thing, cause it’s free. I had some typographical issues setting the colophon, and they wouldn’t have existed if I bought paper for it…but oh well. I still like the way it turned out.

Hey — if you want Volta, and you’re not sure if you’re gonna get one, let me know. If I have some left, I’ll send you one.

I’m already looking forward to the next issue, and it’s going to have a movie theme. Themed issues of anything can be dangerous, but I’m willing to risk it. Part of the movie theme has to do with Volta #3’s container / housing. It’s going to all come together quite nicely. So, if you have a short poem, or some art (that you can duplicate 100 times) think about contributing. It’s the bestest, most surest way you’ll receive one.

I’m about to send Henry Denander and his Kamini Press a big ol’ thank you for Bird Effort, Ronald Baatz’s latest book of poems. It’s a beautiful effort, and the poetry’s smart and achingly beautiful. You should really pick up a copy and support both the poet and Kamini.

As I bang this out I’m listening to the 4 Men With Beards re-issue of Otis Redding’s The Great Otis Redding Sings Soul Ballads and I’m wondering how, in all my 45 years, I missed this record. Sure, I have Dock of The Bay, and I scored In Person At the Whiskey A Go-Go at my very favorite used record store in the whole wide world — Eastside Records in Tempe, AZ. But nothing prepared me for Sings Soul Ballads. I’ve listened to side 1 seven times now, and the only thing that keeps me from flipping the record over — I just want to this to last…you know? 4 Men With Beards doesn’t have a website, so if you want the record, just hit your local indie record store, or Google it…I guess. OK. On to side 2.

While I was waiting on my plane delay at Phoenix Sky Harbor back to LA, I found Dick Cavett’s blog on one of his shows; this one featured John Updike and John Cheever. Honestly, I’ve never been a fan of Updike or Cheever, but I’m a huge Cavett fan. Wait. I really liked Cheever’s “Goodbye, My Brother” (but who doesn’t?) and Updike’s book Still Looking: Essays on American Art. Anyways, I squealed like a little girl while I watched this particular show, and I have no idea why. I’ve never seen Cheever or Updike speak, and, like I said, I’m not a fan.

So what gives?

Oh, and side 1 of The Great Otis Redding Sings Soul Ballads speaks much more loudly, and much more clearly, than side 2.

At least to me.