Letterpress
Wood type
Edition 2- 4 each
Wood type
Edition 2- 4 each
Home / Body / Land
When I returned to Hamilton Wood Type and Printing Museum, about a month after my initial visit (see Kolo / Okolo), I returned to handle the large wood type section of the collection. After finding my letterforms, I worked carefully with color to create a fractured composition. Hand-inking the letterforms, I inked the letters in such a way as to create the picture plane on the letter itself, breaking the logic of the letterform and using the physicality of ink to create landscapes.
With the war in Ukraine raging, the images in the media at the time were reminiscent of those we saw in the 1990s from the area of former Yugoslavia. Having been a child during that war and living in Croatia, I was acutely aware of the war’s ability to fracture reality. And in a sense, it overwhelmed reality, dominating time before and after it and swallowing up everything in relation to its horror.
I found myself preoccupied with the idea of the home, which feels forever intangible and fleeting, almost like home is and has always been some inaccessible place in the past, beyond countries and borders, and as if I have always been chasing it backward. It was, in my mind, by definition, unreachable.
The state of immigration has an odd effect on one’s relationship with the idea of home and the idea others have about where your home is and where it should be. Immigrants are often told to “go home” by their neighbors. I have also had experiences with this questioning. My response for a long time in the past has been one of resilience: to simply consider my body my portable home that I can travel with, a place in which I can have a sense of belonging.
April 2022
When I returned to Hamilton Wood Type and Printing Museum, about a month after my initial visit (see Kolo / Okolo), I returned to handle the large wood type section of the collection. After finding my letterforms, I worked carefully with color to create a fractured composition. Hand-inking the letterforms, I inked the letters in such a way as to create the picture plane on the letter itself, breaking the logic of the letterform and using the physicality of ink to create landscapes.
With the war in Ukraine raging, the images in the media at the time were reminiscent of those we saw in the 1990s from the area of former Yugoslavia. Having been a child during that war and living in Croatia, I was acutely aware of the war’s ability to fracture reality. And in a sense, it overwhelmed reality, dominating time before and after it and swallowing up everything in relation to its horror.
I found myself preoccupied with the idea of the home, which feels forever intangible and fleeting, almost like home is and has always been some inaccessible place in the past, beyond countries and borders, and as if I have always been chasing it backward. It was, in my mind, by definition, unreachable.
The state of immigration has an odd effect on one’s relationship with the idea of home and the idea others have about where your home is and where it should be. Immigrants are often told to “go home” by their neighbors. I have also had experiences with this questioning. My response for a long time in the past has been one of resilience: to simply consider my body my portable home that I can travel with, a place in which I can have a sense of belonging.
April 2022