A few months ago, I got a project inquiry that seemed too good to be true. Some folks at the University of Rochester reached out and asked me to create letterpress printed posters for a trans-themed science fiction conference.

Initially, I thought it was spam. I thought someone collected my data and asked AI to write the perfect project brief all so they could dupe me into giving them my credit card info or something.

But I took the call, and it was all real. My dream project.

The client asked me to design original artwork relating to the conference and its trans futurity theme. They asked for 150 letterpress printed posters, specifically requesting to use antique wood type and hand-carved linocut blocks. I was so stoked.

So I did the work, sketching up some concepts, setting & proofing type, carving the block, and printing, printing, printing.

I couldn’t believe how well they turned out. 150 posters, two layers of linocut illustration, plus two layers of type, all printed on three different Vandercook presses in two different community studios. My confidence soared. I could align so many layers, I could troubleshoot different presses, and I could set all that type. I could make posters that were damn near perfect.

I editioned 150 posters, packed them securely in a box, and dropped them off at UPS for overnight shipping to the client.

And then...

...they disappeared.

Whenever I ship deliverables to a client, I check the tracking page obsessively, watching the package make its way through the system to their doorstep. This time, I refreshed the tracking page every few hours, but the package never moved.

The estimated delivery date ticked backwards day after day until finally, two days before the conference, UPS announced the package was officially lost.

All those posters. Lost.

I was devastated.

You know the five stages of grief? Pretty sure I went through them all in about a day, and then just got stuck in the depression phase. It’s so hard to make a living as a printmaker, and sometimes it feels like all the highs just get obliterated by all the lows. This project had been the highest high, followed swiftly by the lowest low.

Maybe this was a sign from the universe to just give up.

I had planned to attend the conference, and those plans were still in motion. So despite how bummed out and despondent I was feeling, I got on a train up to Rochester. When I got there, I stayed with some friends and we stayed up late catching up and talking, and they helped me remember something

Being an artist is learning to let go.

In fact, that’s kind of the whole gig. You put a ton of time and energy into making something that you absolutely love, and then you give it to a friend or you sell it at a market or you send to the client.

(Or UPS throws it off the truck into the East River.)

But in any case, you make stuff, you let it go, and then you keep on making more. That’s just what we do.

And eventually, I was able to let this go. I realized that the skills I had developed didn’t get lost in the mail. I can make 150 posters again. I can align all the layers, and troubleshoot all the presses, and set all the type. Everything I had accomplished with this project is still here at my fingertips. I can make damn near perfect posters again and again.

But, just to clarify, it did really, really, REALLY suck.

If you’re wondering how this all resolved for the client, well, it wasn’t great, but it was fine.

I had some extra posters (always print more than you need) and I brought them to the conference. We scanned them, and the conference organizers had posters digitally printed to give to conference attendees. The keynote speakers got the few remaining original posters. It wasn’t the ideal, but it was something.

Eventually UPS found the posters in Kansas City and sent them on their merry way to Rochester. The client received the posters, albeit about three weeks after the conference was over.

Those posters are still the best I’ve ever made. This project was still the highest high, followed by the lowest low. And it was a great reminder to let it go, and to just keep making more.

Want me to make damn near perfect posters for you?

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Ben's Blog (Clever Name Forthcoming)

Learning to let go