How it happened that I have come to have a place of my own to print.

Story starts back in Basel. Marcel told me I should come to breakfast at the studio, and meet two printers, visiting from Denmark. They had recently finished a beautifully printed edition of Joseph Brodsky's Watermarks, the same text, coincidentally, that had initially inspired my own Venice print. One of these guys, Bent, was involved with a working museum in Viborg [Vee-bor(g)] called Vingaards Officin [Vín-gords Offeeceen]. Sounded nice, so we exchanged contact information. Among the things I recall about Bent was a sort of turtleneck shirt, that was just the neck part. It was for biking, he explained. My first glimpse of the (completely justifiable) Danish enthusiasm for bike gear.

Later on, Bent put me in touch with Louise [Louisa], who was just moving into a new space in the old Carlsberg brewery with a few other artists. She had some equipment on loan from Vingaards, and often worked closely with the guys out there. Louise and I quickly became friends, and I started hanging around the studio, putting together the equipment for a proper print shop. The other folks in the studio were great, too, and it was always nice to hang out. Somehow, though, I never got used to doing real work there - maybe because I hadn't been in Copenhagen long enough, or because I didn't have a dedicated space of my own in the shop, or even, shamefully, because the shop was at the top of the only hill in town and I'm a lazy schlub. So when, in May, Carlsberg decided to kick everyone out of the space so that they could replace the building with a road, and people began looking for a new place to work, I joined in the search, though mostly out of curiosity. Louise decided to stay at Carlsberg, but move to a different location, but the other artists were looking for something around the city. That's when they found the storefront on Frederiksberg Allé.

Last year, in Basel, I began contemplating, scheming, considering, hypothesizing, about my future as a printer. In my mind, I envisioned some kind of storefront in Copenhagen, the letterpress visible through the big plate glass window, with prints and books for sale, and workshops in the back. But, oddly, when the possibility of this exact thing presented itself, I wasn't sure I wanted it. I had become so accustomed to my lazy, do-nothing life that I developed during the cold months. I watched a lot of TV on the internet. Sometimes I took multiple naps during the day. I eschewed doing household chores and neglected the double bass. But you know, because of last year's dream, I thought, what the hell, just go for it.

So, in about three weeks, Alléwerk will have its official opening. My compatriots include textile designer Anne Nowak; Hanne Zachariassen, whose clothing design company is called Asfalt; printer Stig Stasig; designer and architect Sofie Jensen, and designer Line Rix. We'll have a boutique with all of our work on display, I have a table of my own, and soon enough, Vingaards Officin, led by the thoughtfulness and kindness of Bent, will send out a press that I can borrow for as long as I need it.

Pictures to follow.