Smooth-textured with natural specks from the hemp and recycled paper content.
Before sewing, we press pages and cover stock in a family press.
Susan’s father bought the press at a flea market in Munich during the summer of ‘69,
while he was living and teaching in Italy and Germany. The press caught his eye for
pressing plants like his grandfather ... So he balanced it on the handle bars of
his bicycle to bring it to his temporary home and eventually back to California.
He later gifted it to botanist and bookmakers Susan and Gary Entsminger in Colorado.
On winter nights with music playing and dreams twinkling in the sky,
we punch holes with a bookbinder’s awl
and sew the pages and cover together with linen thread reinforced with beeswax.
We are happy to present this beautiful edition to you.
Ready to ship in eco-friendly envelopes also made in Colorado.
Forest Stewardship Council certified, 100% post-consumer waste
wind-powered, carbon neutral, milled in New York
Vellum texture and heavier weight, bright printing and an enduring feel in the fingers.
Inviting you to turn pages slowly, to read and contemplate with strength and ease.
Covers printed then cut. Interiors cut then printed.
Photograph “Mount Tai” by XIA Haitao, Text Designed by YIN Xiaoyuan
Interior text blocks printed and assembled together with covers.
Seaside art on title page and throughout the issue by Liz Meer.
Japanese Hand Drill
The smooth clean action of the hand drill bores 2-mm holes through the book block.
Drilling through a few pages at a time, requiring ultra precision to keep pages aligned,
this stage of the process requires great time and concentration.
Japanese Stab Binding
Finally, the books are bound in a traditional 4-hole design
Sewn with Irish linen thread
reinforced with raw beeswax from the Midwestern U.S.
supplied by the best candle factory in the world just up the road here in Colorado:
From Our Little Cabin to Yours
Om. Peace ! Peace ! Peace !
Falling As Snow Angels: You and You and You
This winter I started hiking and swimming in and around the mountain town of Ouray,
just up the road. A friend called the night before the anniversary of my mother’s
passing and told me about the lap lanes at the hot springs pool and all the safety
precautions they had for Covid. So the next day, after months of isolation, I ventured
out, a little more each time.
I climbed and swam and was nourished with gratitude for friends, poets, artists—family
falling as snow angels from the sky, to let go the fire in our lives.
This is what Pinyon Review is: You and you and you, in relation—falling into pages,
into the palms of our hands. I watch you as if you had orchestrated it. The themes
you write about and make pictures of, like the breezes nudging open my door a few
inches, flying in from many places and many times. You thread together in harmony.
I wasn’t thinking about the Pinyon Review when I rolled up the prayer flags with
my friend’s poems and art, tucking them into my backpack.
I was imagining how high we’d climb off the Ouray Perimeter Trail to find a place
to let the words and images breathe with the wind and the below-freezing sunny air.
I climbed through deep snow to a cluster of aspens, set the prayers sailing, smiled
and tried to keep my fingers warm while photographing the scene.
Cleaned up and left only my solo tracks, to melt.
A couple of months later during an online bookbinding class, I learned the wrap-around
cover structure. The magic of the image unfolding appealed to me, as did the idea
of unfurling the bios of the contributors.
For the Pinyon Review, I designed the structure with three configurations:
Flap sliding into a slot on the front, when the journal is closed
Flap in a slot on the back, when reading the issue
Flap open to unfurl the list of contributors and to view the full image.
Printed on fine textured, 100% sustainable Mohawk paper, milled in New York.
Paper cut, folded, and sewn by hand. For You and You and You.