Grief
Today I heard that Chris had died. I guess it wasn't exactly a surprise, but it was a shock. A horrible, sad shock, and I haven't really assimilated it yet. All day, as I was putting ornaments on the press and locking them up, planing them down to make sure they were all sitting properly level, rolling ink, making adjustments and putting paper into the grippers, I was thinking about Chris. He was the one who taught me to use that press, who criticized my inking and spacing so I would get it right, who told me about pin marks and who got all excited about finding a piece of type with a mark he'd never seen before.
Looking at Chris's work was a source of huge inspiration to me; I shamelessly stole most of his inking techniques and lots of his layouts. The block of ornaments I've been printing these last few weeks for my color-sample book was directly taken from something I'd seen in one of his posters. I set it while he was still my teacher, never got around to printing it until now, and now it's too late, and he'll never get to see what it looks like.
It's kind of amazing when I think about what a short time I'd actually known him. He was my favorite kind of teacher: a perfectionist, not the kind who demands or requires perfection, but the kind who is aware of it, who notices it and points out its absence, quietly, firmly. "This isn't right." And who equally points out the things you've done well. "That's a pretty form. See, that locked right up." And I don't think I ever asked him a question about type or printing that he was unable to answer.
He wasn't teaching this semester; it sounded like he was busy with other work. Then, just a month or so ago, we heard that he'd been into the hospital for some kind of emergency surgery. And now, he's gone. Too sudden. Too soon. I wanted to invite him to my wedding.
I don't know how to react, except to be incredibly sad. I miss him. There were so many more things I wanted to be able to talk to him about. I suppose, though, that I'm grateful to have known him at all, to have learned so much from such a kind and wonderful person.
Looking at Chris's work was a source of huge inspiration to me; I shamelessly stole most of his inking techniques and lots of his layouts. The block of ornaments I've been printing these last few weeks for my color-sample book was directly taken from something I'd seen in one of his posters. I set it while he was still my teacher, never got around to printing it until now, and now it's too late, and he'll never get to see what it looks like.
It's kind of amazing when I think about what a short time I'd actually known him. He was my favorite kind of teacher: a perfectionist, not the kind who demands or requires perfection, but the kind who is aware of it, who notices it and points out its absence, quietly, firmly. "This isn't right." And who equally points out the things you've done well. "That's a pretty form. See, that locked right up." And I don't think I ever asked him a question about type or printing that he was unable to answer.
He wasn't teaching this semester; it sounded like he was busy with other work. Then, just a month or so ago, we heard that he'd been into the hospital for some kind of emergency surgery. And now, he's gone. Too sudden. Too soon. I wanted to invite him to my wedding.
I don't know how to react, except to be incredibly sad. I miss him. There were so many more things I wanted to be able to talk to him about. I suppose, though, that I'm grateful to have known him at all, to have learned so much from such a kind and wonderful person.