Henington Press
VANISHING
On 6th Avenue in Park Slope, the Henington Press sits on the first floor of an old brick building. I've passed the sign many times and always found it lovely in its simplicity. I took this picture earlier in the year, worried it might not last much longer.
Now we hear that the press is closing soon, after 96 years.
from my flickr
WNYC has an excellent radio interview and short film, sure to make you cry, with the owner of the press, David Harris. In the cluttered wonder of his shop he explains how the business was founded in 1912 by his grandfather, Isidor Harris. He still has the beautiful Kluge letterpress the shop started with. He's hoping to find a home for it--to sell it or just give it away.
"I love this press," Mr. Harris says, the Kluge chugging in the background, "It's like my wife, you know. Or child. I love it. It's attached to me."
from the film
He is selling the building, though it pains him, and moving to Israel. As he's packing up, so many things remind him of his family. Sometimes he just goes down to the shop, behind closed doors, and cries. He says, "It hurts but I gotta come to the realization that it's gotta come to an end."
On a more recent night, for sale signs in the window:
On 6th Avenue in Park Slope, the Henington Press sits on the first floor of an old brick building. I've passed the sign many times and always found it lovely in its simplicity. I took this picture earlier in the year, worried it might not last much longer.
Now we hear that the press is closing soon, after 96 years.
from my flickr
WNYC has an excellent radio interview and short film, sure to make you cry, with the owner of the press, David Harris. In the cluttered wonder of his shop he explains how the business was founded in 1912 by his grandfather, Isidor Harris. He still has the beautiful Kluge letterpress the shop started with. He's hoping to find a home for it--to sell it or just give it away.
"I love this press," Mr. Harris says, the Kluge chugging in the background, "It's like my wife, you know. Or child. I love it. It's attached to me."
from the film
He is selling the building, though it pains him, and moving to Israel. As he's packing up, so many things remind him of his family. Sometimes he just goes down to the shop, behind closed doors, and cries. He says, "It hurts but I gotta come to the realization that it's gotta come to an end."
On a more recent night, for sale signs in the window:
Comments
Post a Comment