Of course, I ran off to Palo Alto for a conference Thursday, leaving gfish, tfabric, and xmurf to try to figure out how to move twelve hundred pounds of metal off the truck and into the garage. Twelve hundred pounds of metal that started up above their heads. Mmmm, tasty tasty danger. I'm such a helpful co-conspirator, no? :)
Still having trouble getting over how very pretty it is.
But glad it's post indutrial-revolution enough to have, say, standardized bolt sizes. :)
A word on a page is where type and ink and paper come together, right? It's a touch, a gesture, a motion. I was paging through a dictionary this morning, and suddenly all the little black words in their neat lines were motion instead of material. Dizzying. This is what having access to a printing press does to you, I guess.
When I first started metal-working, I stopped seeing metal objects as flat surfaces that bounced light, like polygons in computer animation. It had become well and truly real to me; I know its touch, its song, the way scale flakes in pearl-gray eggshell curves out of iron, the wash of tempering colors gold scarlet indigo on a blade held in the flames, the high clear C of a true hit with the blacksmith's hammer.
I am so very much looking forward to restoring the press.