publisher & designer
assistant art director Sarah Munt
©2004. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means without written permission of the publisher.
Printed in France Imprimerie TOSCANE email@example.com
Color scans provided by Axiom
Published by 3x3 Magazine, 244 Fifth Avenue,Suite F269, New York, New York 10001 (p) 212 591 2566
It’s been like a dream come true. It’s like a birth of a baby.You think about it, dream about it, conceive it and there it comes,hot off the press, bound and in your hands. It’s a scary thing, putting out a maga-zine.Who’s going to buy it? How do you get distribution? How do you do all of this on a shoe-string? You work hard, you get the art in, you get scans, then get help with the production, then help translating the French instructions for the pre-press work that has to be done.You drop it on the printer’s ftp site and then wait.Will it come out? Will you like what you see? And then the word comes from Nice that the proofs are on their way by DHL. You rush down to pick them up,cross the street to Starbucks and relish in the ecstacy of the moment when the Iris proofs arrive, the rush to rip open the package just to see if everything was in the right place, the fear that you can never get good work done fast and cheap. And there it sits before you, everything glistening with color, cropped right, placed right: nothing missing. It rivals the time when you first see the sonograms of your children in the womb and you know they’re going to be fine,yet you still worry. And then the fear that, yeah sure the proofs are just fine but how’s it going to print? The anticipation, the flight on a snowy evening, the arrival and you’re ready to get on press but then there’s the tour of Nice, the fine lunch, the bottle of wine, the conversation which lasts for three days and nights. The dinners, more wine and your host is taking you to his parent’s house, to fellow artist’s homes, to Monaco, to a party with kids half your age who let you blend right in. And they want you to play poker, and you continue to lose but vow that next time you’ll be the one taking them to the cleaners. Too much wine, staying up too late and then they want to put the job on press! Half dazed you get to the plant and plop down to rest, to get needed shut-eye but they have other plans.The pressman is not to much older than your son, and you worry more. But you’re here, and you know the job can only go one of two ways.You’re up on the hour to proof each form anticipating that the host has purposefully kept you out too late so you won’t see the errors on press and you gingerly walk down the stairs each time to a perfect sheet with only the minor hickey to circle. And within a day and a half you are done and you’re on your way to the airport carrying your one pound baby, grinning ear to ear like one proud poppa.
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