BonefolderVol8.pdf

Volume 8, 2012

The Bonefolder: an e-journal for the bookbinder and book artist

Table of Contents

Publisher’s Note

Evolution of an Artist’s Book by Sarah Bryant

John DePol Digital Archive at The University of Alabama

by Amanda Haldy, Sara Parkel, & Dan Albertson

Reinventing the Flag Book by Jeff Tong

Bookbinding in Estonia by Illu Erma, translated by Silja Oja

Modern Portuguese Bookbindings by Sam Ellenport

A Tale of Two Boards: A Study of A Bookbinding by Sidney F. Huttner

Book Conservation at West Dean College by Abigail Uhteg

“How Do I Make It Stick?” Adhesives For Use In Conservation and Book Arts by Tish Brewer

A Bookbinder’s Gamble by Gavin Dovey

Reliquary for a Book by Florian Wolper

Towards Practice: The Art of Bookbinding Used to Instill Craft in Graphic Design

by Law Alsobrook

Durante and Wallace-Crabbe: LIMES by Perle Besserman

Of the Bookbinder (London, 1761)

Bind-O-Rama 2011– Artistically Reversible: Where Conservation and Art Meet

Book Reviews

Abbott, Kathy. Bookbinding: A Step by Step Guide. Review by Anna Embree.

100

Banik, Gerhard and Brückle, Irene. Paper and Water: A Guide for Conservators.

Review by Abigail Uhteg

101

Marks, PJM. Beautiful Bookbindings, A ThousandYears of the Bookbinder’s Art.

Review by Beth Doyle.

103

Miller, Julia. Books Will Speak Plain: A Handbook for Identifying and

Describing Historical Bindings. Review by Chela Metzger

104

Minsky, Richard. The Book Art of Richard Minsky. Review by Miriam Schaer

111

Starling, Belinda. The Journal of Dora Damage. Review by John Nove

114

Wallace, Eileen. Masters: Book Arts. Review by Jules Siegel

115

“End”matter.

118

Volume 8, 2012

The Bonefolder: an e-journal for the bookbinder and book artist

Publisher’s Note

Welcome to Volume 8, 2012, the largest (and regrettably last) issue of The Bonefolder. What started as an experiment in

open-access online-only publishing “way back” in 2004 grew into perhaps the most widely read publication in the book arts

with over a quarter million downloads for all issues combined since we began with a global readership. Listing of the The

Bonefolder in the Directory of Open Access Journals (DOAJ) placed us in just about every research library’s online catalog,

and participation in LOCKSS will ensure long-term access to all issues (as do Syracuse University Library’s and the Internet

Archive’s servers). This growth, however, also brought with it ever increasing workloads for the small and incredibly dedicated

editorial staff who solicited articles, worked with authors, and much more. With the 2011 issue we switched to an annual

format (something catalogers curse publishers for) in the hopes that it would allow us to streamline processes and spread the

work out as it came in. Alas, that did not happen in the way we had hoped and the process became unsustainable… When we

began we knew it would be a challenge, albeit a fun one inspired by other independent publications such as Fine Print and

Bookways, but also membership publications such as The New Bookbinder and The Guild of Book Workers Journal. Since we

started other publications in the book arts other sprung up but ours remains the only freely accessible journal in the ield.

Looking back, I think we more than surpassed our initial goals, and while I have deep regrets about “closing the book” I feel it

is far better to leave the ield at the zenith when we all still have energy for other pursuits (that we all know will come) rather

than forcing ourselves to continue. So, it is with an intense sense of pride that I thank all those who have worked to make this

publication the success it became – Donia Conn who encouraged me to start things in 2004, Pamela Barrios, Chela Metzger

and Don Rash who formed the original core, Karen Hanmer who soon joined the team, and inally Ann Carroll Kearney who

was a very welcome addition with this issue. To Samantha Quell, a long-time student of mine, our thanks for indexing our 14

issues thereby enhancing access. All of you contributed greatly to our success. Finally though, we would have not been able to

exist at all if not for our authors, some established, some new, who illed our issues with articles that covered the full spectrum

of the book arts.

To all thank you!

Editorial Board:

Karen Hanmer: Book Artist, Chicago, IL.

Ann Carroll Kearney: Collections Conservator at the

University at Albany Libraries, Albany, NY.

Publisher & Editor/Reviewer:

Peter D. Verheyen: Bookbinder & Conservator / Head,

Preservation and Conservation, Syracuse University Library,

Syracuse, NY.

Chela Metzger:Conservator of Library Collections,

Winterthur Museum, Garden and Library, Winterthur, DE.

Full information on the Bonefolder, can be found at:

Editors / Reviewers:

< http://www.philobiblon.com/bonefolder>

Donia Conn: Workshop Program and Reference

Cooordinator, Northeast Document Conservation Center,

Andover, MA.

The masthead design is by Don Rash

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

The Bonefolder (online) ISSN 1555-6565

Volume 8, 2012

The Bonefolder: an e-journal for the bookbinder and book artist

Evolution of an Artist’s Book

churches, I began taking pictures of other things I found

particularly interesting. I never intended to show these to

people; I was simply taking photos when I felt a compulsion,

and would then ile them together on my laptop to see if any

ideas would shake out of them later. Soon it became clear that

I was repeatedly drawn to two kinds of images.

By Sarah Bryant

Biography is a letterpress printed artist’s book that

examines the chemical elements in the human body and the

roles they play elsewhere in the world. This book grew out

of my desire to use the periodic table, our visual method

of categorizing every particle of matter in the universe, as

a tool for creating a portrait of a human being, the viewer

of the book. I designed, printed, and bound Biography over

the course of two years. The following is a description of

that process, from its crude beginnings as a desktop folder

of digital photographs, through a dozen mockups, months

of press time, and the completion of the binding in April of

2011.

The irst group of photographs consisted of odd collections

of similar objects piled on tables in open markets, or arranged

in cemeteries, or carefully guarded behind glass in museum

displays. Piles of dental equipment, for example, or identical

aged artiicial lowers, or tiny, ancient stone igures. These

objects had been created new somewhere, had been pumped

out full of purpose into the wide world, and now, at the end

of their lives, they had somehow found each other again.

As I write this article, I am aware that I am describing

a process that I usually labor to hide. I don’t want people

to look at one of my books and immediately identify it as

handmade. I want the book to stand on its own regardless of

the production process. It is tempting now to write about that

process, however, because producing this book dominated

my life over a long period of time. It was impossible not to

obsessively document the day-to-day journey of the book the

way some people take photos of their children or vacations.

I was taking what I considered to be gripping daily shots of

colored rectangles, their numbers increasing with every press

run. In photographs this seems strangely magical to me: (pop)

red, (pop) yellow, (pop) green yellow purple. Having this

record creates the temptation to write the narrative of the

project, as I am doing now.

The second group was a selection of speciic moments

in architecture; bricked up doorways next to functional

doorways, the ghosts of old facades on renovated buildings.

I was especially intrigued by stones that had once been

carved with text, but had long ago been separated from

their adjoining stones and reused in a purely utilitarian way.

This led to portions of words found sideways on a wall,

or upside-down ten feet up. All of these photos gathered

together seemed to be whispering about the change in

The primordial soup of this book formed while I traveled

in Italy in 2008. I was teaching for the University of Georgia

in Cortona, a place so beautiful that it was disorienting. In

addition to the requisite I-was-here-look-isn’t-it-stunning

photographs of cobblestones and sunsets and glorious

Volume 8, 2012

The Bonefolder: an e-journal for the bookbinder and book artist

function of objects over time, and about the dissemination

and regrouping of the objects that we make and use. Before I

could think any more about it, it was time to pack the bags,

kiss Cortona goodbye (Ciao!) and move to upstate NewYork

to start a fellowship at Wells College.

A hundred boxes and a thousand miles later, I found myself

in Aurora, NewYork with a rough idea and no plan for how to

proceed. At this stage I generally get started simply by making

things. Moving my hands, folding some paper, cutting things

out, playing around on my laptop. Ninety percent of what I

produce in this way is eventually discarded, but without this

mindless making, no progress is possible. This time around,

I spent some time experimenting with calculation wheels,

(turning wheels that reveal different information at different

angles,) imagining that this mechanism might be a good way

to talk about change and function. Starting from structure

and trying to squeeze content to it is dangerous, however. I

quickly abandoned this format and continued to experiment

with other things, playing with images of screws and bolts,

cutting holes out of paper and layering sheets together.

How much about the periodic table do you remember? I

remembered almost nothing. What is a glove made out of?

or an apple? How in the world is a person supposed to work

out the chemical composition of a car? It had been at least

ifteen years since I had given the periodic table more than a

passing glance. There was no way to move forward without

admitting to myself that I was an utter chemistry bonehead.

It was time to meet with a chemistry professor, and, happily,

there was one in the building next door. Enter Wells Professor

Christopher Bailey, who was kind enough to sit me down in

front of a pull-down chart of the periodic table and explain it

to me step by step. I had a little notebook, and I asked a lot of

questions. I learned, most importantly, that the book I wanted

to do was impossible. Things are made of too much stuff. The

chemical composition of a car? Start with what the bumper of

a car is made of. And the seats. And the exhaust pipe. I needed

to reevaluate.

Maybe when I was driving to the college, counting cows,

or maybe when I was in the shower, or when I was awake

in the middle of the night, the periodic table arrived like a

gift. Up from my subconscious bubbled the way to talk about

these ideas of dissemination and reuse, of combination and

recombination. The periodic table is the eternal story of the

photos I’d been taking. With renewed focus, I got on the press

and printed an assortment of periodic table-shaped things that

I could use as a batch of raw materials with which to work.

Another series of mockups followed, this time in the form of

a modiied board book. A card printed with the periodic table

could be pulled out and placed between die-cut pages, the

holes on each spread revealing the chemical composition of

certain objects: your car, your apple, your body, your gloves.

Volume 8, 2012

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