There’s a subtle miracle in taking ephemeral pixels—fleeting thoughts, digital whispers—and giving them permanence through ink, paper, and pressure. Print is my favorite kind of alchemy: working with an aged craft and mechanisms to mold today’s boundless digital excess into something tactile, enduring, and even revolutionary.

In a world obsessed with speed and screens, the printshop remains a sanctuary of slowness. Here, the scent of ink mingles with the rhythmic hum of machinery, each impression a deliberate act of creation. These techniques, many centuries old, are more than nostalgia—they’re a rebellion against disposability. Every pamphlet, poster, or page I produce becomes a shared artifact, a bridge between individual curiosity and collective learning. With the scraps of copper indelibly etched by hand, changed by expression.

Knowledge shouldn’t just exist in the cloud.

It deserves physicallity, a chance to gather dust on someone’s shelf, to ignite a mind yet unknown.