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Inside L.A.'s oldest letterpress printer beloved by celebs, from Oprah to Jon Hamm

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Inside L.A.'s oldest letterpress printer beloved by celebs, from Oprah to Jon Hamm

Surviving in an obsolete industry as long as Aardvark Letterpress has requires fundamental elements of entrepreneurship. Skill, dedication, creativity and professionalism are essential. General manager and co-owner Cary Ocon returns to another theme that’s kept what’s now the city’s oldest letterpress print shop running since 1968.

“Dumb luck,” he says.

Brothers Brooks and Cary Ocon on the floor of Aardvark Letterpress.

A test negative taped to the window of Aardvark's office.

A test negative taped to the window of Aardvark’s office.

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The lack of pretense and polish here belies the pedigree of much of Aardvark’s client base. Entertainment, fashion, art and other creative industries converge at the unlikely corner of 7th and Carondelet streets overlooking the southwest edge of MacArthur Park. Both basic and technically complex, making letterpress goods is a process that involves the physical act of pressing inked plates onto paper using mechanical presses in a manner that literally leaves a deeper impression.

A look through samples of artful work imprinted with boldfaced names and known entities from Apple to Rihanna’s Fenty Corp. to Valentino to Billie Eilish reveals the many layers of exceptionalism at work that inspire trusting partnerships. When actor and producer Jamie Lee Curtis established her production company Comet Pictures in 2019, “Aardvark Letterpress helped me start off with a strong logo and design,” she shares via text message. “I’m grateful for their expertise and guidance.”

In addition to relying on Aardvark to help shape their professional image and branding, people come here for a richly tactile experience. Personally printed matter made with this level of care has a way of inspiring connection and celebration.

“Cary and the team at Aardvark represent that sadly disappearing sector of tradecraft in the current culture,” actor Jon Hamm says via email. “Singularly, almost maniacally, devoted to one thing, they practice an attention to detail that is as precise and exacting as it is gorgeous in its finished quality.”

“We were typographers before we were printers,” Cary says, pointing to the hulking Intertype brand typography machine dating from the early 20th century that stands in one of the shop windows. With its complex movements that cast lead into a mold to form letters, leaving piles of shavings that get repurposed, it’s the original piece of equipment Cary’s father, Luis Ocon, obtained when he bought Aardvark Typographers 56 years ago in its previous location on Grand View Avenue.

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The atmosphere is earnest and soulful, imbued with the makings of a one-act play setting and populated with a cast of characters. Gently sarcastic Cary handles overall management duties, while technically minded Brooks Ocon is the hands-on printing expert, alongside laser-focused master printer Bill Berkuta. Derek Pettet, a friend of Cary’s since the fourth grade, adds to the familiar dynamic.

Brooks Ocon aligns a block for printing.

Brooks Ocon aligns a block for printing.

Master Printer Bill Berkuta prints an order for a customer.

Master Printer Bill Berkuta prints an order for a customer.

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Another moment of good timing came in 1988 when Brooks went to run an errand at H.G. Daniels art supply store on 6th Street. He couldn’t find what he was looking for, so he was directed to McManus & Morgan Fine Art Paper nearby. Brooks noticed a “for lease” sign in an adjacent storefront inside the detailed 1924 Spanish Colonial Revival-style Westlake Square Building designed by architect Everett H. Merrill. It struck him as an ideal place for Aardvark to put down new roots, and his father agreed.

“This was the original art district,” Cary notes, referencing the erstwhile concentration of art schools in the area. Otis Art Institute (later renamed Otis College of Art and Design), the ArtCenter School (ArtCenter College of Design) and Chouinard Art Institute, which was the predecessor of CalArts, were clustered within blocks of each other before relocating to their respective campuses. Multiple art supply stores catered to the student population.

The initial period of Aardvark Letterpress becoming a studio whose services are prized among glitterati clientele like Oprah Winfrey and art galleries and fashion houses, however, was not so smooth.

Print of deceased founder Luis Ocon at Aardvark's entrance.

A print of founder Luis Ocon at Aardvark’s entrance.

A view of Aardvark from South Carondelet Street.

A view of Aardvark from South Carondelet Street.

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A self-taught newspaper Linotype operator who immigrated to the U.S. from Mexico City, Luis Ocon’s purchase of Aardvark Typographers from his former boss Ken Matson coincided with the early adoption of computerized typesetting. “The business just started to nosedive because no one’s doing metal type anymore,” Cary explains. A customer suggested they learn to print in order to adapt to the changing times. “We got our first press and stumbled our way through letterpress printing,” Cary recalls.

While Cary was earning degrees at UC Berkeley and the University of Minnesota and then embarked on what would be an unsatisfying law career, Brooks and Luis were “struggling” to keep Aardvark afloat. Patriarch Luis, who passed away last year at the age of 86, was their stepfather who raised them as his own after meeting their mother, Helen, when Luis and Helen worked at the Holland House Cafeteria in what was Britts Department Store across the street from the Original Farmers Market. (The Ocon brothers also have two sisters and a half-sister.)

Decades before exclusive event planners trusted Aardvark Letterpress to create exquisite wedding invitations and noted artists such as Shepard Fairey partnered with the team on limited edition letterpress works, the business was hyper-local. Mariachi musicians would walk in on a Monday morning needing a fresh supply of business cards after a busy weekend promoting their talents.

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Otis Art Institute in its original Westlake location accounted for the occasional job, and Gary Wolin, who still owns the century-old McManus & Morgan, referred customers who needed to print on the specialized papers he sold. The simpatico, closely connected businesses remain neighbors after Wolin downsized within the same building. (Newer tenants in the recently renovated property include taste-making firm Commune Design and Hannah Hoffman gallery.)

“We were a secret among graphic designers,” says Cary, who joined the business full time in 1998. Otis alumni would remember the old school print shop down the street, where the 1920s stencil-painted ceilings, multiple Heidelberg, Germany-made production presses, sturdy wooden drawers full of brass type in hundreds of fonts and other tools still serve as a portal to a pre-digital era.

One of Aardvark's six Heidelberg presses, vintage printing machines that apply designs directly to paper.

One of Aardvark’s six Heidelberg presses, vintage printing machines that apply designs directly to paper.

Because cultural tastes and trends have a way of being cyclical, toughing it out eventually paid off. Cary points to Martha Stewart’s championing of letterpress stationery as part of the reason why a revival came around in the early aughts. Aardvark was ready to meet new demand. “Again, it was dumb luck, because we had all the ability to set type.”

In this analog environment computers are used to manage workflow, and a processor upstairs transfers digital design files to make polymer plates used for most jobs. (Aardvark turns to A&G Engraving in Vernon to fabricate photoengraver metal plates for select projects and fine art prints.) This team’s expertise remains unrivaled in L.A. To mix inks, for instance, Berkuta refers to the color recipes on his well-worn Pantone fan deck and then relies on his eye and experience. “I’m weighing it in my head,” he says about getting the ratios right.

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“I have collaborated with the team at the Aardvark studio adjusting plate pressure, ink colors and translucency to achieve sublime effects that no other medium can deliver,” artist Fairey states via email.

A linotype detail.

A linotype detail.

A Marilyn Monroe print on foil.

A Marilyn Monroe print on foil.

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“I consider the invitations, menus and other objects they provided for our wedding to be works of art. Turns out 100 years of experience is worth something!” Hamm adds.

Despite the accolades, Cary is upfront about the challenges of sustaining this artisan enterprise. “To even print a simple business card, it’s much more labor intensive, so we can’t do it for 50 bucks,” he explains. To keep evolving, he’s preparing to launch Aardvark Printworks, a collection of letterpress art featuring imagery such as artists’ renderings of L.A. landmarks.

“I didn’t appreciate what we were doing,” Cary reflects about his earlier relationship to Aardvark Letterpress’ niche trade. “I see how it does move people.” Even if the family has yet to devise a clear succession plan for the future, the Ocons are proud of their legacy. “It’s something special. We’re thankful we can keep going,” Cary says.

Their impact reaches beyond Los Angeles. “I value a family business that keeps the craft of letterpress, an important printmaking tradition, alive and accessible to L.A. artists and businesses,” Fairey echoes.

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This is what you want to read this summer : It’s Been a Minute

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This is what you want to read this summer : It’s Been a Minute

It’s hot, school’s out, put your PTO in – summer’s here! And that means Brittany’s back for It’s Been a Minute’s annual summer books episode! This time around authors Sasha Bonét (The Waterbearers) and Cindy Pham (The Secret World of Briar Rose) join the show to give their summer reading recommendations. From wanderlust to first time love – there’s something for everyone. 

Want more summer book recommendations?
Sexy & Spiteful: the best books to read this summer
Simmering over summer books

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Follow Brittany on Instagram: @bmluse

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For handpicked podcast recommendations every week, subscribe to NPR’s Pod Club newsletter at npr.org/podclub.

This episode was produced by Alexis Williams. The video was edited by Maya Dangerfield. It was edited by Nick Michael. Our Executive Producer is Barton Girdwood. Our VP of Programming is Yolanda Sangweni.

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Want to feel more loved? You’re probably going about it the wrong way

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Want to feel more loved? You’re probably going about it the wrong way

Sonja Lyubomirsky thinks the Valentine’s Day cards have it wrong. Most, argues the researcher, a distinguished professor of psychology at UC Riverside, say some variation of “I love you.”

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Shelf Help is a wellness column where we interview researchers, thinkers and writers about their latest books — all with the aim of learning how to live a more complete life.

“We think all the cards should say, ‘I feel loved by you.’ Or, ‘You make me feel loved,’” says Lyubomirsky, co-author of the recent book “How to Feel Loved: The Five Mindsets That Get You More of What Matters Most.”

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The difference is key, and vital, says Lyubomirsky, to our happiness. Being in love, for instance, is not the same as feeling loved, and “How to Feel Loved” documents the latter. For to feel loved is to truly be seen and embraced by another. It’s deeper, and greater, than passion. And we desire it.

Lyubomirsky, a longtime researcher in the field of happiness, together with Harry Reis, a dean’s professor in the University of Rochester’s department of psychology, have written a treatise on how to bring more compassion, acceptance and vulnerability to our relationships.

The bad news: We often go about it incorrectly. The good news: It’s fixable.

Sonja Lyubomirsky, co-author with Harry Reis of the book "How to Feel Loved."

Sonja Lyubomirsky, co-author with Harry Reis of the book “How to Feel Loved.”

(Taea Thale Photography )

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Too often, they write, we obsess over making ourselves more appealing to others — or more “lovable” — when we should be striving for stronger communication. “How to Feel Loved” outlines multiple mindsets to up our conversation game, each springing off of what they call the “sea-saw method.” Yes, “sea” rather than “see.” We unpack that and more with Lyubomirsky, below.

This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.

A core tenant of the book is that sometimes we’re our own worst enemies. Things we think may help us feel more loved ultimately work against that goal.

Many of us are loved, but we don’t feel loved. Harry Reis and I created a survey expressly for the book, and we found that 70% reported wanting to feel more loved in at least one of their significant relationships, and 40% wanted to feel more loved by their romantic partner. That’s a problem. Feeling loved is so important to happiness. What are the barriers? Why don’t people feel more loved, and what do they do when they aren’t feeling loved? What we discovered through research is that we kind of go about it the wrong way. We think, “If I don’t feel loved, I need to change myself. I need to make myself more lovable. I need to get more attractive, richer, more accomplished and have more power, status, fame and beauty. I need to show the other person my wonderful qualities and hide my shortcomings and weaknesses.” It turns out that’s backward. That will not make us feel more loved. Our message is empowering. You don’t need to change yourself. You don’t need to change the other person. You just need to change the conversation.

I want to get into changing the conversation, but curious, is a reluctance to do so driven by a fear of rejection?

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There’s something called the vulnerability paradox. We think being vulnerable and admitting our mistakes will make people like us less. But actually, often people like us more. So that doesn’t mean just go tell everyone your weaknesses. A lot of emotional intelligence is involved here. You have to read the person — at what point to be a little vulnerable? But right now, I want to impress you with this interview. I want you to think I’m smart, knowledgeable and a good person. That might succeed in impressing you, and maybe you might admire me, but it’s not going to forge a connection. It’s really that vulnerability of going deeper that makes us feel more loved.

"How to Feel Loved" from Sonja Lyubomirsky and Harry Reis.

“How to Feel Loved” from Sonja Lyubomirsky and Harry Reis.

(Harper Collins Publishers)

So how do we go about that? What’s the first step in feeling more loved?

If you want to feel more loved, you need to make the other person feel loved first. How do you do that? You show genuine curiosity in their day, in their inner life and what they’re all about. We all crave that. The key to feeling loved is truly being known. If you’re hiding your shortcomings and only showing your highlight reel, you’re not going be known. So, Todd, let’s say you only show me very positive sides of you, and never anything vulnerable. Then I express love to you. How can you trust that? What am I loving? I’m just loving this little piece that’s being shown to me. So you’ll always wonder, “Oh, if they only knew A, B, C or D about me, they wouldn’t love me so much.” So the first step to make the other person feel loved is to show radical curiosity. For example, I’ll ask, “Tell me about the last time you cried.”

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And yet to ask that question — or to answer it — we need to feel that we’re in a safe space. The concept of radical curiosity seems to create that.

You feel safe because I’m really genuinely interested and I really care. We talk about the open-heart mindset, which is warmth and kindness. I really care about you. I believe in you. We call this the listening to learn mindset. I’m not just trying to respond or turn it back to me, like, “Oh, that reminds me of my story.” Most of us are not good listeners, me included, because we’re formulating an answer instead of just totally taking it in. Listen like you’re watching a film. When you’re watching a film, you’re just taking it in. You’re not formulating an answer when you’re watching a movie.

Some of these tips sound simple but they’re difficult to implement.

We have the “sea-saw” metaphor. The idea: Say you and I are talking. We’re sitting on opposite ends of an underwater “sea-saw.” The reason we’re underwater is because most of us is hidden. I only see the tip of you and you only see the tip of me. But when I’m showing curiosity in you, it’s as though I’m pressing down on my end of the “sea-saw.” I’m helping to lift you up and I see a little more of you. Then when you start talking, I don’t just listen to learn, I listen with warmth and acceptance — without judgment. That’s hard to do, because we’re all judgmental. But that lifts you up even more. Then this is the hard part, but the idea is you will reciprocate. Then you show interest in me and ask me questions and get me to open up. Feeling loved is being known, and you do that through a “sea-saw.” It’s a back and forth.

I like the “sea-saw” idea because a lot of times I get in my head, like, “Say something interesting.” But it’s really more about being interested?

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It’s incredibly hard to really cultivate curiosity in someone else’s inner life. It has to be genuine, but it really makes people feel seen, heard and loved. Remember the last time someone was so curious about you. Maybe you’re telling a story and they can’t wait for you to finish a sentence. They’re leaning in. Their eyes are bright. Charismatic people have that. It’s compelling. But we’re not going to feel loved if we don’t share something of ourselves with others, but you want to start small. Pacing is critical. You don’t want to overshare and trauma dump. Maybe start with a little thing. They say, “How are you?” Instead of saying fine, say, “I had a rough morning.” Or, “I’m struggling with a little thing today.” It doesn’t have to be negative. It can be, “I didn’t really like that movie that everyone loved.” That’s a little bit vulnerable.

And it’s letting go of a fear of being judged.

One of my favorite mindsets is the multiplicity mindset. It comes from trauma research. The idea is when we have a trauma in our life, it’s part of you, but it doesn’t define you. We’re a quilt of positive and negative traits. I’m generous at times, but sometimes I’m selfish and sometimes I’m loyal and sometimes I’m narcissistic. That’s true about me, and it’s true about everyone. But one trait doesn’t define us. So use a multiplicity lens when you’re talking to someone, and use it on yourself. Humans are messy, very complex, and full of bad and good traits. The opposite of that is to be judgmental. Being judgmental is something we have to overcome, so using a multiplicity lens takes some effort. So when you want to make someone feel loved, when they’re revealing something about themselves that they may be afraid to reveal, you make them feel accepted and that you see them in all that complexity. You feel loved when a person knows your secrets and still loves you.

And the book provides valuable insight into those moments when maybe you didn’t feel loved.

A couple of early readers of the book — we had finished the book but it wasn’t published yet — shocked me. They were both friends of mine. They said they loved it, but both of them decided to break up with their girlfriends after reading the book. One said to me, “I read your book and I realized she’s not sharing and I’m not sharing.” The other person said, “I realized my girlfriend stopped asking me questions.” We thought of this as prescriptive. “Here are the steps you can take.” They used it as a diagnostic. Were both of you sharing? Were both of you listening? Were both showing an open heart? And multiplicity: If you reveal something negative, is it seen with compassion? This really breaks it down. I don’t want people to break up with people, but if this sheds a light on a relationship, hopefully that means they can talk about it and improve it.

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A person embracing themself in a flowerbed

(Maggie Chiang / For The Times)

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Richard Pryor’s daughter studies the N-word — a word he used, then disavowed

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Richard Pryor’s daughter studies the N-word — a word he used, then disavowed

Comedian Richard Pryor performs on stage at the Los Angeles Hollywood Bowl on Sept. 19, 1977.

Lennox McLendon/Associated Press


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Lennox McLendon/Associated Press

Historian Elizabeth Stordeur Pryor has spent much of her career tracing the N-word through slavery, Jim Crow, the civil rights movement and hip-hop. But what she didn’t tell her audiences was that her father, Richard Pryor, was the comedian who put the word at the center of American comedy in the 1970s.

“I was a scholar of the N-word — and so was he,” Pryor says of her father.

As the child of a white mother and a Black father, Pryor describes her own relationship to the N-word as a “super complicated” one. She remembers teaching a college class in which one of her white students used the word while quoting Blazing Saddles — a film her father co-wrote. Pryor froze: She had vowed never to use the word in her classroom, but suddenly there it was.

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“I [was] just kind of like like a deer in the headlights,” Pryor says. “I was really worried about the Black students. … Something I had never considered when I thought about teaching is what happens when the racism that we study and we teach comes in? … How do I work through that in the moment?”

Pryor’s new book, Something We Said: Richard Pryor, A Notorious Word, and Me, is part memoir and part history of one of the most divisive words in the English language. Late in his career, after spending time in Kenya, Richard Pryor vowed never to use the word again.

“One of the things I admire about that moment when he disavows the word is he said, ‘This is for me. I’m not telling you what to do,’” she says. “There is a piece [of him] where he understood that the word had a function in Black culture. He does talk about, though, as an artist, losing control of what the word was doing.”

Interview highlights

On her father’s use of the N-word

71zqbEDxm5L._SL1500_.jpg

[In] one of the first meaningful conversations I ever had with [my dad] as a little girl, he told me, “Don’t let nobody ever call you that.” And then he used it, and then his friends used it. …

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I think it’s really important to emphasize that when I’m saying that he used the word that it was in the subversive way, that it was the language of protest, and that he was building on a Black tradition of protest, that Black people had used this word kind of as a slap in the face to white racism. You know, “We know how to take our punches and our knocks, and we’re not afraid of this thing that you’re trying to demean us as.” And so bringing that use, the way that Black people perceived of the N-word, onto stage was really powerful in the 1970s.

On talking about the N-word with her college students

Teaching the word is still incredibly difficult. I have to say, the conversations are always hard, but I feel like it’s important because my students walk away knowing that this is not a conversation, like I said, about free speech. It’s really about how how we interact, how we want to bring as many people as we can to the table. And if we do that, that means that we’re going to be thinking about who we’re sitting at the table with and how things will impact them.

On meeting her dad for the first time when she was 6

We were in Newark, New Jersey, … and my mom is acting kind of … nervous. And we knocked on the door of a hotel room, and he opened in a towel. And I was like, this is my father. Like, not only do I get a father, but I get this guy. What? I just felt like I won. I loved him immediately. Instantly. His eyes were so warm, and he was so handsome. And I just fell head over heels. … I saw my face [in his face]. … He created a bridge immediately between us and invited me to cross over.

On vying for her father’s attention as a kid

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I wanted to be smart enough and creative enough, and I would try to show off. I did theater. I did improv. He would come to my plays and come to my performances. [I] tried to get intellectual with him, like when I was in college. And I had a Black awakening and he basically, like, sent me some stuff so I could awake Blackly, I guess. … He sent me the documentary on Malcolm X that had been filmed, I think, in 1972. And then he sent me The Last Poets’ [song] … “N-words are Scared of Revolution,” to listen to. And I did. I felt like he was inviting me into a secret world, and I wanted to go there. …

At the end of his life, when he couldn’t speak anymore, I would go over and read from the narrative of Frederick Douglass to him, and I could see that he was feeling proud … of being read Frederick Douglass by me.

On Richard Pryor’s upbringing with a sex worker mother and the first laugh that changed everything.

Oh, my dad. He told me a story about being 5 years old and, I don’t know why, but he’s wearing a little cowboy suit, and he was in front of the house and all the people were there, his grandmother, all the sex workers, and his father and his uncle. And he slipped in dog poop and they just start cracking up. And so he got up and he made himself slip in it again, and they couldn’t stop laughing. And so he did it again and again. And it’s pretty painful to think of the lengths that he felt that he needed to go to get their adoration and attention.

Anna Bauman and Thea Chaloner produced and edited this interview for broadcast. Bridget Bentz, Molly Seavy-Nesper and Meghan Sullivan adapted it for the web.

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