Deep Drawn Presswork Ireland //top\\ May 2026

“My name’s Saoirse. I’m a designer.” She opened the sketchbook. Inside were drawings of things Eileen had never seen: a lamp shaped like a bell, a structural column for a tiny home, a modular rainwater collector that looked like an inverted flower. All of them labelled the same way: Deep drawn. Ireland.

“I was.”

She heard footsteps. A young woman stood in the doorway, backlit by grey rain. She held a sketchbook. deep drawn presswork ireland

Now Eileen stood on the factory floor, alone. The last order had shipped three weeks ago—a batch of medical canisters for a German firm that had found cheaper labor in Poland. The roof leaked onto the 500-ton press. Rainwater traced rust-coloured paths down its iron flanks. “My name’s Saoirse

She should sell. The developers had been circling for a year. They wanted the land for a “business park”—another bleak cluster of glass boxes selling nothing to nobody. All of them labelled the same way: Deep drawn