My Love Affair with Paper Die Cuts
- Simon J Davies
- May 27
- 4 min read
Updated: May 30
By Simon J. Davies
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Simon's ArtCards are available at the Canadian Center for Architecture bookstore, in-person shopping only
I am a visual artist working mainly with found materials, and first came across commercial paper die cuts twenty years ago at my studio building near Chinatown in Montreal. I had recently acquired the space and decided to visit my neighbour to introduce myself and see what was going on in his shop. The space next door was occupied by a small printing business run by Frank Szelmayer. Frank’s operation consisted of two offset printers, a die-cutting machine, piles of shipping boxes, ink in tins, and various paper supplies in a space of about 1,500 square feet. The shop used only older technology, with no computers or other digital devices, though Frank did have a fax machine. Rhythmic machine sounds and distinct inky odours dominated the environment.
Frank greeted me in an amiable manner and took a moment to show me around. He was about 70 years old and an immigrant from Hungary. He worked with his wife, Alma, who ran the office, a printer named Randy, and the die-cutting machine operator, Juan, who came to work when there were enough jobs to be done. Die cutting is a part of the printing process when a printed piece is not sliced into a rectilinear shape by a guillotine paper cutter. When a different shape is needed, the die-cutting method is employed. The die is a metal object with sharp edges for cutting, much like a cookie cutter. The resulting shape may be as simple as a circle punched out of a Do Not Disturb sign hanging on a door handle, or an intricately shaped, scored and folded presentation box.
As I wandered around the place, I noticed several large barrels full of card stock material, which appeared to be waste. I pulled from the bin what turned out to be a die cut, and examined the quality of the card stock and its configuration—essentially a white matte about five-by-seven inches with a rectangular hole cut out of the upper half of the card. It immediately reminded me of a film frame or a matte for a single photo.
I politely asked Frank if I could have a few offcuts. “Help yourself,” he said, so I took a few back to my studio. I started using them as frames for artworks such as photos, sketches, and frottage, and employing plain bond paper for the design surface. This activity progressed to installations, tabletop and hanging sculptures, and utilizing a larger range of offcuts in many colors and shapes.
Frank adored my efforts and encouraged me by bringing his clients to show off what I had been doing with this waste product. I had a few shows with the die cut as the focus, which Frank and Alma attended. He loved the experience and took great joy in celebrating the work and his contribution to it.
Paper sculptures by Simon Davies, and Frank in his studio, images courtesy of Simon Davies
A few years later, we were both renovicted when the building was converted into condos. Frank continued to supply me with a vast range of die cuts that he’d procured from the printers he was now dealing with as a jobber. He would bring them to my new studio almost every Saturday, have a coffee, and talk about his life and my art.
When the COVID-19 lockdown began in 2020, I started making my ArtCards series, creating collages from the offcuts in the frames mentioned earlier. The lockdown presented difficulties in exhibiting art, and my studio space was crowded, so I had to come up with art production that was small and practical.
One striking insight I have had with this material is a rediscovery of the frame’s significance in art and design. Artists generally frame a two-dimensional art piece after production—in my case, I start with the frame. I place the frame over the chosen die cut and move it and the die cut into different positions, experimenting with the layout, design, and graphic qualities. I then introduce a second or third die cut to complement, intensify, or animate the composition.
These ArtCards have engaged me beyond expectations. I work on them at my home studio every weekend and have produced over 1,000 unique cards. I cannot resist calling this a meditative process. The more I make, the freer the expression and experimentation becomes, and the more pure joy emanates from the creative flow. A favourite quote of mine is one from Martin Buber, an early twentieth-century existential philosopher, who said that “all real life is meeting,” referring to God and fellow human. The chance meeting with Frank and the resulting authentic friendship set my creative life in another direction and a new adventure, for which I am eternally grateful.
