Poster Mountain

I can see how it might seem like a good idea. That Houdini poster looks a little flimsy. Why, here's a nice, sturdy piece of cardboard. Let's slather it in gluestick and slap that poster on there. No. Do not do that please. Cardboard may be sturdy but, say in a hundred years you want to remount it? Maybe use something a little nicer this time? Yeah, no. That cardboard is staying on there forever. Great job. Actually, we can remove cardboard backings. It's just a bit of a gigantic labor intensive process. The reason we prefer linen-backing is because it's so easily reversible. But should you find yourself with a cardboard-backed poster, do not despair. Here's what we will do: First we shave off the cardboard in layers while the poster is clamped face-down to a board. John has a variety of hand-sharpened spatula tools for this process. Some are sharpened such that one side of the spatula digs deep for removing thick layers, while the other side ski

 Here we are going to demonstrate what a simple gelatin backing looks like. Gelatin is one of Poster Mountain's unique specialties. John innovated this technique himself, and it has proven an ideal option for many different paper situations. Today we are working with a window card for the 1961 film Breakfast at Tiffany's. It's printed on a heavy card stock, typical for that period's window card format. We are going to use gelatin here because linen, since it is thinner than the poster in this case, would eventually become wavy. And ruffles are not what we're after. Wavy BAD. Other cases that call for gelatin: Rock posters. Traditionally they are not linen backed. They just aren't. Collectors of this genre don't do that. But what if your rock poster is in less-than-beautiful condition? You get it backed with gelatin and what you come away with is a perfectly flat piece with an invisible stabilizing agent. Fruit crate labels. Mo

Way back in the day... Maybe fifteen years ago... When Poster Mountain was but a wee child... A mistake was made. It wasn't necessarily our fault. The poster, for the 1953 film The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms, was infested with mold. It was a special, colorless type of mold that only makes itself known when, in preparation for mounting, the poster is sprayed down with water and proceeds to disintegrate before one's very eyes. John wasn't there. The freaked out employee who had unintentionally vaporized the poster went ahead and linen-backed it. Apologies and explanations were made to the client, and the poster was returned. In a very sad state. Aside from fire, mold infestation is the most destructive thing that can happen to paper. Mold digests and excretes the "sizing," or the agent that keeps the paper's fibers fused together. Often the mold's excretions are visible in fun colors like pink or black. In this case our mold was shy, and its e