Image + Word Interview 3: Ethan Evans Interviews Matt Hart of Forklift, Ohio

Forklift, Ohio was the first journal I remember reading that was object-oriented. While I’ve since been exposed to a breadth of experimental journals on and offline, Forklift has a longevity most don’t. Has it been challenging to run Forklift, while also working and teaching, for over two decades?

I guess the answer here is yes and no. I mean, yes in the sense that it’s a pain in the ass to do all the things that go along with editing, publishing and assembling a journal (not to mention also trying to do it differently each time, with new content and new materials). Additionally, it’s time consuming, frustrating, and occasionally even contentious when Eric and I are going back and forth about concepts/materials/construction. There’s also the expense of doing it, which we’ve always absorbed ourselves for a whole variety of reasons, chief among them that we’ve never wanted to be beholden to anyone else--their time frames, their expectations, their aesthetics, their vision. It’s DIY all the way and by any means necessary. I’ve said elsewhere that Forklift isn’t a non-profit, and it’s not a for-profit, it’s an anti-profit. We happily “lose” money on every issue. But the way we see it (and on the other hand), we aren’t losing anything, we’re investing in a community and in an artistic practice, which is awe inspiring, humbling, and so much bigger than we are. And this makes it easy to keep going--it’s not difficult at all. The time and effort and dollars that go into it come back to us multiplied (in waves) in the amazing community of writers we’ve been fortunate to be a part of and serve. It’s really that community--and the responsibility we feel to it--that’s kept the journal going for so long. 

On a related note, it is hard to keep thinking of new ways in which to create/bind editions?

We’re actually pretty wild with ideas. The problem is finding ways to execute them that won’t bankrupt us or get us put in jail. One new idea I have is to do an issue that only has six poems in it, and each poem would be printed on a can of beer that was brewed to complement the poem itself. We know some local brewers, so I think we could pull it off. Eric could design the cans, no problem, and the stickers are available from various sources. The problem is that the crowler machine costs about $800, and then we’d have to pay the costs of the brewers’ ingredients, etc. And, more importantly, how to choose just six poems when we’re used to having 60 or so in an issue? Other materials we’ve been considering: cheesecloth, typewriter ribbon, baseball cards, American pennies, light sensitive paper, invisible ink... 

Do you have a favorite edition?

I probably have a few least favorite editions, but I’m not telling... In recent years, I really enjoyed the wine issue that we corked by using a paper drill bit to make a cork-sized hole in the upper right hand corner. Each copy was also individually wine-stained, and our staff sommelier paired wines with each chapter of the book. That was tons of fun.

The industrial-manual aesthetic, along with Forklift’s binding materials, has a feeling of impermanence. Most literary artifacts I've been exposed to (broadsides, journals, books, etc) are designed to last. Do you want Forklift's editions to last? (I’m also thinking here of how the Spring 2015 issue, bound in sandpaper, rejects being treated as a normal book-- it would damage its neighbors if it was shelved like a conventional journal.)

Thanks for noticing this. We’re definitely not trying to do anything archival. We’re not book artists. We’re old DIY punk rock kids, who made a lot of flyers and cheap stapled zines. The Forklift model is more assembly line than boutique, more absurd than artisanal, more aggravating than extravagant. I love the idea that someone would have to figure out how to deal with that sandpaper issue in relation to their other books (even including that they just decide to recycle it, because it doesn’t fit). Forklift doesn’t fit. I don’t worry about whether the issues last, what I worry about is getting them into people’s hands, and if right then and there they disintegrate, that too might be a cool experience to have with a book. 

In a 2016 interview you mentioned liking the idea of a self-destructing edition. Is that still something you'd like to do? It sounds rad.

Oh you know it, but so far the right materials and/or process have eluded us.