If you’ve ever wondered how a successful corporation can fall completely apart in just a few years, read on. I’ve watched a few of them do this – from the inside.
Here at Lost Art Press we will soon wrap up the second financial quarter of 2022, and our financial sheet shows our revenue is down 21 percent compared to this time in 2021. Why? We haven’t put out as many books this year because we don’t have strict deadlines with our authors.
Do we care that we are down 21 percent? No. Are we freaked? Not at all. Are we taking any action at all? Nope.
Here’s how John and I look at the business. Are we eating? Yes. Are we doing what we want to do every day? Yes. Are the people we work with happy? Yes (they tell us). Are we happy with the books, tools and apparel we are making? Yes. And is this decline something that will right itself during the next five years? Absolutely yes.
However, in the corporate publishing world, here’s how this problem plays out.
First, the publisher (me) is hauled before the suits (Bespokeus corruptus) and given two options: A) Resign or B) Hit your revenue target by the end of the fourth quarter (typically those targets are 20 percent higher than revenue from the previous year).
If I choose B, here is what I have to do:
Quickly boost revenue by selling inventory to bookstores at a discount. Here’s why that is a deathtrap. In corporate publishing, bookstores are allowed to return unsold inventory within two years for a full refund. So even if I boosted revenue this year (and saved my job), it could all fall apart in two years when bookstores start returning this discounted inventory (a very typical scenario).
In addition to boosting revenue, I need to cut costs to improve our profit margin. Why? If I don’t hit my revenue target but I do improve the profit margin, I could end up keeping my job because I brought in the same amount of money. How do I do this? The easy way is to slash production costs for books. One-third of our expenses are printing – let’s say that’s $1 million. If I moved printing to Korea, that would cut our printing costs to $500,000, and quality would actually stay the same or improve (Korea has a fantastic printing industry). If things get even worse, I can move printing to China and cut printing costs to $300,000 per year. Here’s the problem: There’s nowhere left to go after that. And you will never be able to afford to print in the U.S. again.
At my gauntlet session, the suits point out that our “point of sale” revenue is up a shocking 4,219 percent. (This is because we had an open day in the spring and we didn’t have any open days in 2021 because of the pandemic.) “Clearly this is where the growth is,” according to the suits. “Do more of that!” So we open the store every weekend, forcing me and Megan to work more hours and taking us away from making books. But it works! We double the “point of sale” revenue from $6,200 to $12,400 per year! In real terms, this money is meaningless to the total revenue picture.
[Megan’s Editor’s Note: At _my_ gauntlet session(s), the suits point out that I could stand to lose a staff member. That’s a huge savings! I refuse. A few months later, I’m the one who gets “lost.” Thank goodness. Now I’m found.]
As you can see, this is why I’d always choose A (resign) over B (gut the business). And then I’d start my own business (with a friend) that isn’t about growth. It’s about stability, making objects that are useful and that we are proud of. And it’s about living well.
— Christopher Schwarz
P.S. I’m not trying to get you to buy anything here – we are totally fine (I *wish* I were that clever of a marketer). Is it dumb to tell your readers your revenue is down? Probably. But I don’t care because we aren’t trying to sell the business or impress anyone.
A few excellent axes, with uses and comments. Availability is always the question. (top) Hans Karlsson New Sloyd Axe. 24.5 oz., 4-1/4″ blade, 15″ overall. A sweet-spot carving axe that can be used for carving spoons and bowls. Originally designed by Wille Sundqvist, I suggested lengthening the cutting edge when it went into production. (middle) Svante Djarv Baby Axe. Just 14.5 oz., including the handle. Three-inch blade, 13″ overall. This axe seems ridiculously small, but it’s very effective for spoon carving. And you won’t get tired using it. (bottom) Svante Djarv Little Viking Axe. 28 oz., 5-3/8″ blade, 15″ overall. Another great carving axe that is somewhat larger than the Karlsson New Sloyd. It’s definitely too large for spoon carving, unless you’re an expert.
The following is excerpted from Drew Langsner’s “Country Woodcraft: Then & Now.” In 1978, Drew Langsner first released this book to the world, and it sparked a movement – still expanding today – of hand-tool woodworkers who make things with mostly green wood.
“Country Woodcraft” showed you how to split wood from the forest and shape into anything you might need, from a spoon to a bowl, from a hay rake fork to a milking stool, a pine whisk to a dining table.
After more than 40 years, Drew revisited his long-out-of-print and important book to revise and expand it to encompass what he learned since “Country Woodcraft” was first released.
The result is “Country Woodcraft: Then & Now,” which was expanded by nearly 100 pages and updated throughout to reflect what Drew has learned since 1978. Among many other additions, it includes greatly expanded sections on building shavehorses, carving spoons and making green-wood bowls.
Axes are honorary members of the primitive tools family. Axes are simple tools, but the good ones are also refined, the result of countless generations of use and thinking about specific requirements.Simple means that you need to do most of the work. There’s a definite learning curve, and practice is necessary to develop and maintain technique. As an example of this, you can watch Wille Sundqvist hewing a spoon in 1982 in a video posted to the Country Workshops YouTube channel. The video records Wille at his prime…a world-class axe master who grew up in rural Sweden when men used axes every day.
Safety First! Axes are easily the most dangerous hand tools. This is because they work with a throwing action. There’s accelerated force that doesn’t let off until overcome by friction. When using an axe, you must always be extremely careful – on your best woodworking behavior. During spoon carving, you’re holding the workpiece with your free hand, so you must be extra careful.
The first rule is that your holding fingers must always be on the backside of the workpiece, never gripping around or over the top. This rule always applies.
A few terms. These aren’t official, but offered here so that we understand one another. Axes are one or two handed. Single-handed axes are also called hatchets. Carving axes are single-handed hatchets designed for wood carving. In contrast to a camping hatchet, carving axes are a refined and tuned instrument. “Hewing axe” refers to double-handed axes that can also be a broad axe – heavy, with a massive blade, and a single bevel on the outer side of the cutting edge.
Carving axes are what we’re concerned with here – for working on spoons, ladles, bowls and maybe sculptural work. Broad axes are usually used for architectural work – timber framing and working on log structures. Much was learned about carving axes in the years after the historic Spoon Carving – Then photos of Wille Sundqvist hewing a spoon with my Kent hatchet were taken (in Chapter 26).
This appendix is an introductory guide to selecting a carving axe. Makers and models are provided, but these aren’t exclusive picks. Everyone has their own requirements, and different makers and models are available at different times.
Weight isn’t a major factor with double-handed axes, but it’s an important consideration with carving hatchets. Because they are single-handed tools, all of the grip and heft – power – are concentrated in one hand and arm. This statement seems overly basic. But consider trying to fasten something with one connector compared to using two connectors that are spread apart. The single fastener requires enormous connectivity when stability is a consideration. With a double connection the stress per connector is much less than half.
With a carving axe comfort is exhausted quickly as axe weight increases. This is felt in your hand, wrist and forearm. This is not only tiring, but can lead to a loss of control – even releasing the axe unintentionally. Older users – like me – should be particularly concerned with axe weight.
A carving hatchet should be light enough that you won’t become tired using it. Svante Djarv’s Baby Axe weighs less than 1 pound, with the handle. Spoons are small things that don’t ask for a big axe.
The cross section of a carving axe handle is critical to the user’s comfort, especially after the first minute or so of use. I’ve been trying to understand what makes the perfect feeling/gripping handle cross section going back to before Country Woodcraft was originally written. I still haven’t figured this out. I have favorite carving axes with handles that contradict one another.
A broad hatchet (a) is beveled on one side. The inner flat side can be very slightly convex from poll to the cutting edge. A standard hatchet may be reground with asymmetrical bevels (b). It’s important that a line extending straight from the inner bevel doesn’t run into the swelling on the head for the handle. This is the blue line on the drawing.
Balance. One of the problems with the Kent axe is that the head hangs below the axis of the handle. It always wants to flop downward. It also has double bevels, so you need to hold it at a rotational angle for the edge to slice wood. This means that you’re always expending energy to correct the hanging angle. The problem is – sort-of – remedied by increasing the size of the poll, the hammer-like protrusion at the top of the axe head. But this increases the weight – probably not a significant problem in the past when axe users were tough and strong.
Angling the piece being axed partially solves the problem. Then the axe swing is closer to plumb.
Balance comes about with good design. The axe head shape, and the angle of the eye relative to the handle, can be made so that the handle axis is in line with the center of gravity of the head. The objective is that the axe can be deployed at a rotational angle without needing to physically pull it into the desired plane. This can take various forms, all with pros and cons, of course. The carving axes in the photos all have good balance.
The reproduction 10th-century Viking axe (shown on page 99) has exceptionally good balance. The original was probably an all-purpose tool, used for butchering, fighting and even woodworking. The axis of the handle is in line with the center of balance of the head. This means that it can be swung in any direction, without the distraction of the head wanting to angle downward.
Bevels. There are three possibilities – symmetrical double bevels, single bevel and hybrid double bevels. A symmetrical bevel is the most versatile configuration, even allowing a moderate scooping action. But it requires angling the axe to get a controlled, supported cut. This is where axe balance is consequential.
The single-bevel version is known as a broad axe or broad hatchet. It’s like a chisel used with the flat side inward. There’s minimal angling needed for getting a controlled cut. This makes single-bevel axes easy to control. Gravity does much of the work. It’s possible to hew a convex shape, but concavities are out of the question.
The hybrid version is sometimes called long and short bevels, or asymmetric bevels. The inner bevel is longer and at a lower angle than the outer bevel. These often come about as a user-made modification of a symmetrical-bevel axe. With this configuration you get some of the advantages of the double-bevel and single-bevel variations.
With any of these three configurations it’s important that the inner bevel is flat. If the inner bevel is convex – slightly curved from cutting edge toward the head – you would need to tip the axe outward to get it to cut. Then you lose support of the bevel during the cut. The axe will tend to bounce away from the work.
There’s some confusion in the broad axe realm as to what version is right- or left-handed. Right-handed means that the left side is the flat side of the head when the axe is held in your right hand. The bevel is now on the right.
This is my favorite broad axe, used to hew most of the logs for our house. The hickory handle is bent away from the blade, to give clearance for your hands passing the hewed log surface. The maker is unknown.
Clearance. There should be some clearance when you hold a straightedge on the inner bevel – or the flat side – laying the ruler from the cutting edge toward the eye of the head. The straightedge shouldn’t bump into a bulge at the eye for the handle. This doesn’t matter with very light axe cuts, but it’s a disqualifying factor if you’re using the axe with enough force that the eye of the axe head passes the work during each swing.
Clearance is a design problem, not impossible to solve, but annoying to get right for some toolmakers. Clearance can sometimes be jimmy-fixed by regrinding the angle of the inner bevel on an existing axe head.
Cutting edge curvature. Axes are most efficient when used with a slicing action – the wood fibers are cut in succession and at an angle. That’s the reason for the curved cutting edge. The cutting angle is also regulated by the angle of the edge relative to the handle axis. And to how the user swings the tool – a matter of skill and preference.
Detail of three craftsmen from “Scenes in and Around Kyoto” (Funaki edition), left screen, by Iwasa Matabei (1578-1650), ca. 1615, a designated National Treasure of Japan, Tokyo National Museum.
The craft groups and lumberyards in this second part of the Japanese woodworking festival cover a period of about 400 years. The occupations of craftspeople at work were painted on screens for castles and temples, carved on woodblocks that were bound into books, or sold as individual prints. The audience for the screens and books were the upper classes of society. Often, for the amusement of the readers, books featured “poetry contests” between craftspeople on opposing pages. These are similar to painted scenes of peasants going about their daily lives in seasonal calendars found in European medieval prayer books and manuscripts.
Some of the images are, like the one above, from works designated as national treasures or important cultural properties. In the last few years many have become available in higher resolutions and, especially the highly-detailed painted screens, are just plain fun to study.
Similar to western societies, entire families were engaged in making goods for sale. Multiple generations commonly lived and worked in small two-room homes. The front room faced the street and was used to display and sell goods and as a workspace. The back room and small courtyard was the living space and also where much of the goods were made.
The Toolmakers
Image from an album by an unknown artist dating from early in the 17th century (Edo era). Illustration from “Trades and Crafts of Old Japan – Leaves from a Contemporary Album,” 1961, by Eric A. Kaemmerer.
In his comments for this image Kaemmerer noted the blades and saws hanging at the shop front, small items in a box near the toolmaker and a display at the shop front that might be nails.
From “Nihon sankai meibutsu zue,” 1754 (Osaka) by Hasegawa Mitsunobu, Pulverer Collection, Smithsonian.
In this second image there is bit more detail and a with more detail and a better view of the forge used to heat the metal in a small shop. Below is a toolmaker with a much bigger operation.
In the same book by artist Hasegawa Mitsunobu a crew is crafting heavy tools for use in a quarry. A much larger forge is needed for this operation with a dedicated “forge man.”
The Carpenters
Top-left: 15th century, artist unknown, Harvard Art Museum. Top-right: source and artist unknown, est. 19th century. Bottom: preparatory drawing, school/style of Katsushika Hokusai, est. 1811, British Museum.
Several years ago I sent the top-left image (15th century) to Wilbur Pan. In his comments on his blog he noted there was no Japanese plane, but there was a yari-kanna, or spear plane, and this is possibly an indication of when the planes used today came into use. The image at top-right, with unknown artist and source, is notable for the tattoos on the carpenter in the foreground and nice curly wood shavings. It is just possible the plank acting as his workbench is a sake barrel.
Shokunin zukushi-e (Illustrations of Various Craftsmen), screen painting by Kano Yoshinobu (1552-1640), in Kita-in Temple, Saitama. This reproduction is from my personal collection. The two large six-panel screens at Kita-in are byu-bu, or wind walls, and feature 24 scenes of craftsmen. The screens are designated National Important Cultural Properties.
The busy scene above (except for the guy in the back taking a nap) may be at the carpenter’s workshop with prep work underway or it may the building site. In the background is a drawing of the building plan, something not seen very often in these illustrations. One of the tools near the seated master is the yari-kanna, or spear plane. Other things to note are the tool box in front of the building plan and lunch has arrived.
By Kawahara Keigo, est 1832-1842, National Museum of Ethnology, Leiden.
A very pristine building site of what may be, considering the size of beams, a warehouse. Seated at the corner of the building is the very important sharpener, because as we all know, sharp fixes everything.
The Turners
Top: “Various Classes of Artisans in Color Pictures,” est 1760-1770s, by Minko Tachibana, British Museum. Bottom-left: “Picture Book of Various Occupations,” 1685, by Hishikawa Moronobu, Met Museum. Bottom-right: lathe from Japan’s first illustrated dictionary by Nakamura Tekisai, ca. 1666, Library of Congress.
The illustration at the top probably shows three generations of the turner’s family and emphasizes the family nature of the business. You can also see how stakes are used to stabilize the lather. The image of the lathe and stand is from the Kinmo-zu-i (Enlightening Illustrations), Japan’s first illustrated dictionary. The dictionary is comprised of 14 volumes of woodblock illustrations with written descriptions.
Left: detail from a scroll depicting craftsmen at work, painted by Kuwagata Keisai (1764-1824), Tokyo National Museum. Right: “Imayo shokunin zukushi uta-wase,” by Kitao Masayoshi, 1825, Pulverer Collection, Smithsonian.
Working as the power for the turning lathe was an exhausting job as emphasized by these two images. On left, the worker stops and gasps for breath. On the right, his counterpart strains to keep the lathe turning. Also note the large brace employed to work on a larger container.
The Wheelwrights
Left: “Picture Book of Various Occupations,” 1685, by Hishikawa Moronobu, Met Museum. Top-right: “Sketches of Various Craftsmen,” 1826, by Yashima Gakutei, British Museum. Bottom-right: “Poetry Contest of Various Artisans,” ca. 1744, after Tosa Mitsunobu, Met Museum.
Some things don’t change much over a period of 200 years: the tools are the same, the body is used as a work-holding device and the wheels are made the same way (except on the bottom-right – is that felly being held in place by magic?).
The Coopers
Top-left: From the “Series Thirty-six views of Mount Fuji,” ca. 1830-32, Katsushika Hokusai, Met Museum. Bottom-left: “Sketches of Various Craftsmen,” 1826, Yashima Gakutei, British Museum. Right: From “Trades and Crafts of Old Japan – Leaves from a Contemporary Album,” 1961, by Eric Kaemmerer.
I’ve often wondered if Hokusai made that barrel extra large just to frame Mount Fuji.
Another image from the screens painted by Kano Yoshinobu (1552-1640) in the possession of the Kita-in Temple in Saitama, from my personal collection.
Like the image from Eric Kaemmerer’s book, we get a good sense of how the family was involved in making goods for sale and how the living space was dominated by the workshop.
Back in 2016 (when we were all so much younger) I wrote a piece on Japanese and Estonian cooperage and included information and video of a Japanese company still engaged in making barrels. If you would like to read it you can find it here.
The Cypress Woodcrafters (himono-ya)
To-left: “Picture Book of Various Occupations,” 1685, Hishikawa Mononobu, Met Museum. Bottom-left: “Poetry Contest of Various Artisans,” ca. 1744, after Tosa Mitsunobu, Met Museum. Right: Screen painting by Kano Yoshinobu (1552-1640) at Kita-in Temple, Saitama, from my personal collection.
Working with hinoki, these craftsmen are making round containers, sanbo (a small stand for offerings in Shinto temples), trays, small tables and stands. After splitting thin sheets of wood, the wood is scored and bent into place. A clamp holds the piece together until it can be stitched together. In the large image the master uses a yari-kanna to smooth the wood and the worker on the right is bending (with the aid of his mouth) a sheet into a round shape. The worker in the foreground has a clamp in place as he stitches the wood together. Two sanbo are stacked to the right of the master and in the background supplies are stacked. The screen paintings from the Kita-in Temple are true treasures in depicting how artisans worked.
A display of goods made of hinoki. From “Archiv zur Beschreibung Nippon,” mid to late 19th century, by Philip Franz Siebold. A sanbo is in the middle of the bottom row.
The Shamisen Maker
Left: detail from “Scenes in and Around Kyoto,” ca. 1615, by Iwasa Matabei (1578-1650, Tokyo National Museum. Top-right: “Sketches of Various Craftsmen,” 1826, by Yashima Gakutei, British Museum. Bottom-right: “Ehon imayo shokunin zukushi,” 1800, Kitao Masayoshi, British Museum.
Many Lost Art Press readers make and play musical instruments, even banjos (hello, Mattias). So, I have included the shamisen in this post.
While the craftsmen on the right work on smoothing the neck of a shamisen, the guy on the left trudges home looking like the girls said “no way” or he got kicked out the band. The screens painted by Iwasa Matabei have so many interesting scenes and I couldn’t resist including him.
Photo by Yamamoto, Meiji Era, 1870s, published by J. B. Millet Co.
Although this is one of those staged photos taken in the late 19th and early 20th centuries it does give us a glimpse at how the shamisen is made. The drum is covered by an animal skin (formerly of an animal usually viewed as a pet) which the maker appears to be applying in this photo.
Both woodblock prints by Yashima Gakutei, mid-1820s. Left: Met Museum, Right: Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
The woman on the left tunes the shamisen; the woman on the right plucks the three strings with a baci, a type of plectrum, cousin to the guitar pick.
The Comb Maker
Top-left: “Poetry Contest of Various Artisans,” ca. 1744, after Tosa Mitsunobu, Met Museum. Middle-left: Saw from Kinmo zui (illustrated dictionary), ca. 1666, by Nakamura Tekisai, Library of Congress. Bottom-left: “ Ehon imayo shokunin zukushi,” 1800, Kitao Masayoshi, British Museum. Right: Actor Ichimura Uzaemon as a comb vendor, ca. 1730, by Okumara Toshinobu.
Fans, umbrellas, sandals, small boxes and combs are just some of the many personal items that were, and continue to be, made of wood. I chose combs because they are a practical item used by women and men and are also an ornamental item.
“Picture Book of Various Occupations,” 1685, by Hishikawa Moronobu, Met Museum.
The kanban, or shop sign, makes it to easy find this comb maker. Comb making requires the skill to make precision cuts, both for blanks and to cut teeth that are evenly spaced. An ornamental comb, or kushi, required a high level of skill and refinement with finishing and decoration completed by a lacquer artist.
From “Nihon sankai meibutsu zue,” 1754 (Osaka) by Hasegawa Mitsunobu, Pulverer Collection, Smithsonian.
There are many painters in the books illustrating craftspeople at work, but I could not find one that was definitely a lacquer artist. However, we do have an illustration of Japanese sumac trees, urushinoki, being tapped for sap to make lacquer, or urushi.
Two combs with lacquer work by Hara Yoyusai (1772?-1845). Top: two turtles (kame) swimming in a stream, design and drafting by Sakai Hoitsu, Tokyo National Museum. Bottom: fireflies in a grassy moor, The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore.
Hara Yoyusai used the maki-e technique of sprinkling gold onto a lacquered surface before it hardened. This raises the design elements and provides texture. The comb on the bottom is gold and the fireflies are black. Note how the painted design extends over the teeth of the comb. The comb at the top has been repaired, a common practice, because there is still beauty in broken things.
The Boatwrights
By Kawahara Keigo, 1832-1842, National Museum of Ethnology, Leiden.
Only one image of this craft and it calls for alteration: boatwrights building a big boat.
Bringing Lumber to Market and the Lumberyards
From “Nihon sankai meibutsu zue,” 1754 (Osaka) by Hasegawa Mitsunobu, Pulverer Collection, Smithsonian.
Trees are cut, trimmed and start the float down river to lumber merchants and their yards. These are scenes not usually found in the books featuring town-based craftsmen.
The golden clouds parted to see a lumber merchant from “Scenes in and Around Kyoto” (Funaki edition), left screen, by Iwasa Matabei (1578-1650), ca. 1615, a designated National Treasure of Japan, Tokyo National Museum.
The three craftsmen at the very top of this post need only walk a short distance down their street and into the next panel of their screen to find a lumber merchant. The merchant probably received his supply via boat on the nearby river.
The 1657 Great Fire of Meireki was a conflagration that destroyed over 60% of Edo (Tokyo)and caused the deaths of over 100,000. After the fire lumbar yards were moved east of the Sumida river and further from the city. Thanks to the well-known 19th-century woodblock artists, Hokusai and Hiroshige we have two views of Tokyo’s Fukagawa-kiba lumberyard.
“Tatekawa in Honjo (Honjo Tatekawa), from the series Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji (Fugaku sanjurokkei),” ca. 1830–32, by Katsushika Hokusai. The stacks of lumber in the lower right are labeled as destined for the storehouse of the publisher of the woodblock print and stock for the new edition of Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji.
The lumberyard was its own city with a maze of canals, bridges and warehouses.
“Lumberyards at Fukagawa-kiba, No. 106 in a series One Hundred Views of Famous Places in Edo,” 1856, Utagawa Hiroshige, Fine Arts Museum of San Francisco.
The lumberyards grew as more land was reclaimed.
A postcard dated 1910 of Fukagawa kiba, via The Tokyo Files.
In the early 1970s the lumberyards were moved further away to reclaimed land. The old lumber yard is now Kiba Park, the newer yards are Shin-kiba.
To bring the Japanese Woodworking Matsuri to an end I will leave you with a link to high-resolution images of the two screens of “Scenes in and Around Kyoto” (Funaki edition) painted around 1615 by Iwasa Matabei (Collection of Tokyo National Museum, National Treasure of Japan).
You can find the link here. Each screen is made of six panels. When you open the link click on the highest resolution. Scroll to the bottom of the page and you will see two links, one for each screen.
Your challenge is to find this pumpkin-panted Portuguese visitor:
After dealing with the hassle and unreliability of print-on-demand tees for a few years, we’ve shifted gears big time. We figured it’d only be right to sell tees that reflect our values just as much as our chore coats, vests, hats and bandanas. That meant good materials and responsible domestic manufacturing.
Our new short-sleeve tees are a thick, tough 6.1-ounce jersey, tube-knit in the USA from domestically grown cotton. That’s about 50 percent heavier than your typical cheapo tee, and the tubular knit means no side seams to chafe and/or fall apart.
The tees are proudly Union-sewn in California. Our friend Mike does the printing at his farm in Oregon, and the quality of his work is exceptional – it’s a true discharge print, which means it’s flat to the fabric, rather than the plastic-y junk that sits proud (and eventually flakes off). These cost us a lot more than a conventional cheep tee, but we couldn’t be more proud of their quality and origin. We even added our own label to the neck.
Just one color and logo, for now. It’s a dark, dark navy with a very subtle charcoal logo. It seems to be damn near impossible to photograph, like all things in the black-on-black vein, but it sure looks perfect in person.
The fit is just ever-so-slightly slimmer than, say, a Hanes Beefy-T. Order your usual size, or a size up if you’re on the fence. Don’t worry, it’s not a slim hipster fit like American Apparel. Like most tees, these shrink a fair bit on the first wash. There’s a size chart on the product page that shows their measurements after a warm wash/warm dry – have a look if you’re still not sure.
— Tom Bonamici
Editor’s note: I have been wearing the living snot out of this T-shirt since we received our first samples. This shirt gets better and better with every wash. And it breathes nicely, even when I’m working hard at the bench. Kudos to Tom for finding the right shirt and the right people to make it. — Chris
We get asked on an almost-daily basis why we don’t ship things overseas. The answer is: We do. We ship our books to our international vendors so they can sell them to customers with a reasonable shipping cost.
But what about T-shirts, bandanas, chore coats and the like? That’s where it gets complicated.
Shipping directly to Europe is a tax nightmare for us (thank you, EU). And on advice of our attorney and accountant, we have decided to sell only through our international vendors so that we don’t end up doing a lot of paperwork.
Shipping to Canada, Australia and other countries is a different kind of problem. It’s insanely expensive. Even with a fully automated, high-tech warehouse with accounts with all the international carriers, we can’t get shipping rates that are even close to reasonable. The cost of shipping a book is usually more than the retail price of the book or bandana or sweatshirt.
We have tried many schemes (too many to list here) to sell shirts and the like outside of the U.S., but they all failed or were too complicated to maintain.
Lost Art Press might look like a big company at times, but are only two guys who run the thing. There are physical limits to what we can do – and publishing books will always be at the top of the list.
I offer a couple solutions for those outside the U.S. who want some of our specialty products:
Use a parcel forwarding service. Many LAP customers have had great success with these services. Here is a list of five recommended by Huffington Post. I wish we could get rates as reasonable as they get. It must be magic.
Print your own shirts and sweatshirts. You can download our logo file here. There are thousands of services all over the world that will let you print your own shirt, jacket or (shudder) thong with the logo.
I wish at times we were a big company that could have a person dedicated to shipping. And that we shipped a million parcels a year so we could qualify for the dirt-cheap rates. And that I had to attend marketing meetings three times a week to get harangued to sell more of the things that suck. And then I had to meet with the executive types above me to explain why we needed a $500 digital camera to continue making books. And that I had to fill out performance reviews and attend classes on how to harass your employees legally. And then I wake up from the bad dream.