In conversation with a sign painter

Starting out

How did you start?

Badly. I was a decorator for six years, and one day a café owner asked if I could paint her window because the sign company had let her down. I said yes before I thought about it. It took me four days and it was terrible, and she paid me anyway.

That week I found a retired signwriter who still kept his brushes in a cookie tin. He let me sit in his garage two evenings a week for a year. Mostly I painted the alphabet, over and over, on old bits of hardboard.

What did he teach you that a book could not?

How to breathe. Honestly. You pull a long stroke on the out-breath, slowly, and your hand stays steady. He also taught me to stop when I was tired. A tired hand ruins in a second what took an hour.

A tired hand ruins in a second what took an hour.

The work

What does a normal week look like?

Two or three jobs on site and the rest in the workshop. A store front takes two to four days: one to set out the letters in chalk, one or two for the paint, and often one more for gold leaf. Van doors are quicker. Pub boards are the most fun, because they let me use more color.

Every job starts with a full-size drawing on brown paper. I prick holes along the outlines with a little wheel, hold the paper against the glass and dab chalk through the holes. That leaves a dotted guide, and I paint over it.

Which letter is the hardest to paint?

A lower-case g, every time. It has two bowls and a little ear, and if any one of them is slightly off, the whole word looks unsteady. I still paint a line of g's every morning before I start work.

Is there anything you won't paint?

The word "artisan". I have turned down three jobs over it. If your bread is good, people can taste it. You don't need to tell them.

Why by hand, now

Printed vinyl is cheaper. Why do people still come to you?

Because it lasts, and it looks like someone cared. A well-painted sign is fine for fifteen years. Vinyl starts to peel in five, and it looks the same on every street. People walking past can tell, even if they cannot say why.

And it is slow, which is good for everyone. The shop owner stands outside talking to the neighbors while I paint. Half the street knows the shop is opening before the sign is even finished.

What would you tell someone who wants to learn?

Buy one good brush, not ten cheap ones, and paint the alphabet every day for a year. Then find someone who will let you help on a real job, even if all you do is mix the paint and hold the ladder.