At these vending machines, you get mini art prints, not stale chips

Back in 2023, artist Ana Inciardi made an Instagram reel that got over 17 million views.

In the short video, you see a bright red box with coin chutes reminiscent of a bubble gum machine. A colorful sign reads, "Mini Print Vending Machine." Underneath art depicting a single fried egg, a strawberry, and other food items reads a promise: "4 quarters = 1 surprise print."

In the video set to the band Pinegrove's then-viral song "Need 2," a pair of hands puts four quarters into one of the three coin chutes, pushes the slot in, and out pops a randomly assigned print of a jar of pickles.

Those were Inciardi's hands — and artwork —and she now has at least 50 vending machines located across the United States. Inciardi says her inspiration for swapping out stale potato chips for linocut prints of potato chips came from childhood memories.

"There was this sticker and tattoo vending machine at a supermarket near where I grew up in Brooklyn at Key Food on Seventh Avenue and Carroll Street," Inciardi said during a recent visit to one of her machines, at the National Museum of Women in the Arts in Washington, D.C. "All the time as a kid, I would get like a Batman or a Spider-Man tattoo out of that thing. And then I was like, 'I wonder if I could get one of those to sell my little prints in there."

Ana Inciardi with her mini print vending machine.

(

Dana Valletti

)

Inciardi's linocut prints are made from carved linoleum. Each layer of color is stamped onto the linocut one by one. But the most exciting thing for her is watching people appreciate her prints in real life.

"This is my first time at this museum. It's the first time seeing this vending machine," Inciardi said about the location. "It's always really sweet watching people. I always, like, shed a little tear the first time I see it. It's really cute."

Inciardi's work primarily focuses on food and the items used to make that food. She showcases yellow slickers or overalls worn while picking vegetables, as well as blue tins of sardines. There may even be a pink prawn in the mix. Just like a bubble gum machine, you don't know which print you'll end up with — you may get a completely different print each time, or end up with doubles. Some of Inciardi's fans even trade her mini prints.

"My friend got me the strawberry a couple of weeks ago and I just had to get one for myself," said D.C. resident Arianne Motte. "This is talk of the town."

Motte said she and her group of girlfriends often trade the small art prints within their circle. The vending machine has been at the museum since August 2024. There's another one at the United States Botanic Garden across town.

"People have been calling them Pokemon cards for women," Inciardi said to Motte and her sister at the D.C. museum vending machine.

Inciardi's work has sparked joy and a sense of community at the 50 vending machines, from Portland, Maine, to California, Inciardi's machines remain stocked, even with high demand. She says she hopes to expand internationally.

There is a subReddit page dedicated to Inciardi's work. A group of 300 people or so post there about their love for her mini prints.

One post features a framed trio of mini prints featuring carrots, a watering can and a bunny rabbit eating carrots while wearing a blue jacket. It's undeniably cute and shows off how fans curate their own traded prints, thematically.

The origin story behind Inciardi's vending machine prints began out of necessity in 2020.

"I'd just become a full-time artist and I was, like, covered in ink every day and I was just filthy," Inciardi told fan Arianne Mott at the National Museum of Women in the Arts in D.C. "And my wife is a farmer. And we have coin-operated laundry in our basement. And we couldn't find quarters anywhere. I was like, 'What if we had like a little vending machine where I could collect quarters for my laundry. And that was literally how I came up with it."

Inciardi and her wife still do their laundry with quarters from the vending machines.
Copyright 2025 NPR