Liverpool's was an artists' book fair of two halves, I think you could say.  Friday, judging by what visitors said and the way many of them looked, it rained all day.  People did come, but they were reasonably sparse - very reasonably, I'd suggest; I wouldn't want to trek through ceaseless wet even for a book fair, and especially not if I knew there was a second day, when the sun might play nice.

And on Saturday, hey presto!  The sun shone all day long and a lot more people turned up.  It was, of course, also the weekend by that time.  We had plenty of youngsters around too, making an absolute and obviously very satisfying racket merely by running down and up the generously built-in ramp that gently descends around the edge of the circular room - well, we had moved in on their dedicated library space, so it seemed fair enough.   

Liverpool Central Library has been extensively renovated/made-over in the past few years, only reopening just over a year ago (I never even thought of visiting as I passed through Liverpool on my way to work in Bootle many many moons ago - probably wasn't even aware that there was a library amongst that substantial row of buildings near the station).  I mentioned we were in the children's library, Discover - it's hard to imagine how it's set out when not full of upstart tables, but it looks a lovely roomy area.  On the Friday I arrived hot and bothered (from hurrying so as not to get too damp from the just-practising rain) and damp anyway.  I'd got there, and all I wanted was to go sit down at our table and set up.  I didn't shift from the room until I went home (the long way - don't ask - not for the first time - don't ask about that either). 

So on Saturday, when Gemma and I entered the library relaxed and without baggage (all there already) and on a gloriously sunny morning, I looked up and was amazed to see a wonderful modern central area, open above me, with crisscrossing stairways, all the way up to the... dome?  It's sort of distorted - a little disorientating but very beautiful.  Later on in the day I went up to the Picton Reading Room.  Just stunning - massive, round, traditional, lovely book layers and ironwork and spiral staircases and (I think) another dome.  I was in love.  I wanted it for my own, though I do think it might squash my whole road under its generous footprint.  I've seen so many beautiful library spaces recently, I'm beginning to understand why the Library of Lost Books set up a Pinterest site of Beautiful Libraries.  I was on my way to see the exhibition of artists' books in the Hornby Library, also rather nice, off the Reading Room.  Like an idiot, I deliberately left my camera at home on the Saturday - surely there just weren't any more photos to take! - and accidentally left my phone behind as well (along with other things I meant to take - oh what it is to be such an organised individual) or I'd have lots of "Look at this!  and this!  and this!" photos to share.  But the Biennial is now on, so I'll be going back (no really, I will) and can take in the library on my trip.  Alas it won't include the artists' book exhibition, which ended Sunday.  Many of the exhibitors were also at the fair, along with other examples of their exhibits, but Theresa Easton wasn't.  I'd have loved a closer look at her subtly multi-shaded Two Thousand Insects, housed in an old letterpress drawer, but she's very kindly allowed me to use one of the photos from her own blog here.   

The fair was, of course, full of lots of lovely book people and lots of lovely books.  I had to fight quite hard with myself not to go round acquiring completely unjustifiable gorgeous-little-things at every stand (and no, I wouldn't be buying them to give away as presents, they would be ALL FOR ME).  Picking out just a very few examples, there were wonderful leather-bound volumes and books full of exquisite drawings of beetles, bees, butterflies, intricate woven book sculptures made from twitter messages and, which really took my fancy, a book created around the shipping forecast.  In the end I was pretty restrained and just indulged in these -

a book which is purely colour, eco-dyed with onion skins, from Pauline Lamont-Fisher (she makes many beautiful books) and an outsize woodcut ampersand from Andrew Morrison of Two Wood Press (lovely man, he says he'll try to identify the random fonts in my new wooden type Pi book, though I shan't hold him to it).  Another one of his posters was in a crazed German font saying (in German, natch) You can kiss my arse - apparently the comment of a soldier in 1918 when asked if he'd like to stay on in the army.  Should have got that too.  But what I might do is ask him to bring one for me when he comes to Manchester in October.

Because YES! the Manchester Artists' Book Fair is on again, 17th and 18th October.  Bookings for tables are coming in steadily (this is the 'paperwork' end of proceedings) and I'm slowly gearing up to the flurry of activity that precedes the event, then worrying over and enjoying the two days that are the point of it all, before slumping back with a sigh of relief and a pinch of regret that it's all over for another year.  Still, long way to go till I get that far.

I've never been before - it's always seemed such a very long way, somehow further than the Cumbrian potfests (I'm not entirely sure but I think it has something to do with it not being in a relatively straight line - turning left at junction 36 and heading in a sunset direction somehow stretches the distance in my mind).  But I went today and enjoyed it.  Numbering such observations as I made ... 

First.  I made my way round the whole of the room, talking to no one (I wasn't in the mood - that's a wholly irrelevant story) and taking a reasonably good look at the nicely varied art.  It split into a number of categories - meh (that was quite a lot of it - a matter of personal taste on the whole, you can't like everything); I can see it's very good but I don't really go for it; very good and I do pretty much like it but not necessarily on my wall; very good and I do pretty much like it and I would have it on my wall by choice.  The last three categories were much smaller than the first and the final one smallest of all.  I continue to be fascinated by pricing - it seems wildly erratic, but no doubt boils down to what the artist knows they can charge and still sell?  Also by (greetings) cards - some artists had many designs, some a few, quite a number of people had no cards - maybe they haven't thought that way yet, maybe the commercial transaction isn't the point to them, or I have before now come across artists who feel that to duplicate their work on a card somehow dilutes their art and makes it less valuable.  I have no opinions, I'm just fascinated.

Second.  I went round again, in a better state of mind by now and no longer actively avoiding interaction.  I found a whole section I'd missed in the middle of the room - I had become so aware that I could easily miss people at the edges that halfway round the first time, I moved to the borders of the room and didn't move back.  The room was reasonably busy and quite complicated with criss-crossing panels, but inspite of the risk of missing artists it was pleasant to navigate.  Sometimes massed art presented in these sorts of circumstances can be soul-destroying, though I have never pinned down why it has that effect on me. On my second trip I liked more work than on my initial tour - does more cheerful equal less critical?  I've actually asked myself that plenty of times down the years, but I don't know the answer, don't know if one set of judgements is more or less fair than the other, and do know that it really doesn't matter to anyone but me.

Third.  I did my homework before I went, looked at what the work at the show was going to be like and which printmakers' work I was looking forward to seeing.  But (oh dear) these days reproduction is so good on the computer, that in many cases seeing the real thing doesn't necessarily add anything much, if at all.  I suppose it should make no odds - if the work was good on the screen and is good in real life, what does it matter that it isn't actively better?  But it still manages to leave a faint sense of disappointment, however unfair.  Oh well, some of the work I liked better than I expected so perhaps it all balances out.

Whose work did I like?  Well there was Laura Boswell's linocuts and japanese woodcuts - I've mentioned her before. 

And Anja Percival's light-filled prints - I've mentioned her too, though never seen her work for real before (except in the 20:20).

And Flora McLachlan - again, I've liked her prints without seeing them for real until now (though she might have been in the 20:20 too).  Then there was Henrietta Corbett (wow!), Janet Dickson and Debby Mason (in particular her mezzotint dodo).  I also liked Kevin Maddison's illustrative prints and Jane Walker's lovely colours (she shows at Rostra too).  

There were more good prints but they were scattered hither and yon - these are the printmakers I remember best. 

After that I wandered round Ulverston for a while, enjoying the many arches with rooms over (that always appeals) and tantalising glimpses of what lay beyond.  Maybe not much, for all I know, but it's the hint, the half-promise, that's so attractive.  There were flags/banners everywhere in the town - didn't investigate why, maybe it's always like that.  Certainly colourful, and sort of festive.  I found a lovely wool shop (Loopy) and a proper bookshop (Sutton's).  By proper, I mean one with lots of little rooms and corners, and heaps and boxes of new and old books everywhere, and steep staircases to other floors.  A feeling that the whole enterprise is living, breathing.  You know, a proper bookshop.

Brewery-headquarters-become-art-gallery The Tetley is playing host to PAGES, the Leeds International Contemporary Artists' Book Fair, this weekend.  I applied but wasn't selected  (but I'm not bitter - ha! geddit?).  It's a new venue, so I was keen to see how it matched up to the old one, though I'd have been there anyway - the first book fair in an age where I haven't been helping to run it or manning a table.  So, having ventured across the Pennines, Emma and I took an inevitably circuitous route through Leeds to the car park then strode keenly off in the wrong direction (ignoring the large building next to us, whereon Tetley's was writ pretty damn large) and still arrived not long after opening time.

Straight away I have to confess that - delightful as it was to go round chatting for as long as I liked to old acquaintances and lingering over any and every thing that caught my eye - I definitely prefer to be on the other side of a table.  It felt plain wrong to be wandering about without a care in the world, however relaxing it has been not to have to prepare work in (natch) a late flurry of activity. 

Of course, I wanted to discover what exhibitors thought about the new location.  Last year's fair was held in Leeds University's Parkinson Building - and as an aside, I've just spotted that the fair has moved from one art deco building to another - which has an elegant and enormous hall where all the tables are in the same room and on the same floor.  This year's is split over two floors and (more or less) three rooms.  Some of the tables share space with the refreshment area.  I have no idea if that poses any kind of problem for those exhibitors or not (didn't happen to ask any of them) - it might even be a good thing?  When I asked a handful of exhibitors spread over the rest of the fair how things were going, there were worries (this was early on) about potential footfall because of the move and a reduction in student numbers again because of the move (some people depend more on student sales than others), there were anxieties about how many visitors might do a preliminary viewing circuit but never make it back upstairs, there were uncertainties about stretching the fair over 3 days (it opened on Friday evening).  But equally, some people thought the new location was a plus and that the Friday evening felt like a private view, with a real buzz to it.  As is not surprising, it appears the jury's still out, but the organisers have been at this game for seventeen fairs now - they know what they're doing.  For my part, I thought the interior of the building was delightful, quirky, cosy - but it lacked the airy lightness of the Parkinson Building and felt just a little cramped.  I always think there's some risk, too, in splitting any event over a number of rooms - it can be too easy to miss some rooms altogether and never know.  Before I left, it was quite difficult to get around the tables because of the crowds - but I really couldn't tell if that was excitingly high numbers of visitors or lack of space, and perhaps that it felt busy was good enough.  The Tetley has a slight flavour of Bristol's Arnolfini, in a tinier size, though without an equivalent of Bristol Docks just outside the door (it's a lovely place to pass the time on a sunny late afternoon). 

Lots of fascinating and beautiful books and such, of course.  I fell in love with lengthy, tactile, sewn books made by Joan Newell (of Page Paper Stitch) and wound on to old wooden spools, and I always seem to end up with something from Old Bear Press (no website! outrageous! but they might claim they're too busy drawing, printing, cutting, making).  There was a ton of gorgeous stuff all round, in fact, and I'm not sure I did it justice.  Maybe I should ignore the long list of things I ought to be doing tomorrow and make a second visit?  I'll look at the state of the house and decide in the morning. 

What, again?  Yes, again.  It was, in weather terms, a pretty dreary visit - well, it's January, they can't have wall-to-wall sunshine all the time, can they, and at least we weren't in flood territory.  When I were a lass, the River Avon down the hill in the town used to flood on a pretty regular basis, and I can remember on one occasion being very jealous of older kids at the grammar when they had to travel in an army amphibious vehicle to get across the bridge to school.  Then the river was resculpted at Bath and floods were fewer - though they still happen from time to time, causing local inconvenience at the very least.  This time the river was high but not over the banks (not yet, anyway) - I like to think those nearest to the river didn't already have flooded cellars or ground floors.    

Anyway, the weather deterred me from my usual trips to the chalk downs, but not from visiting Bath.  The Victoria Art Gallery had a Bath and GWR exhibition on - more fascinating for local history than artistically stimulating, but that's ok because it was fascinating - and I just made it to the Holburne Museum on my way home.  It was always my intention to go - I wanted to see Simon Brett's exhibition of wood engravings.  My ambivalence about wood engraving remains firmly in place and yet at the same time I always want to see what it is that I'm so unsure about.  I suppose it's so akin to other relief techniques and I am after all primarily a linocut printmaker, that I can't resist.  And mostly it's the images I often find uninspiring, many of the artists' frequently finicky approach.  The level of skill, on the other hand, I cannot deny.

It was  a lovely little exhibition.  Some of the images I liked (landscape, trees, obviously story illustration, my usual sort of thing), some not so much, and I can always appreciate a display of tools of the trade.           

I didn't want to spend too much time there, what with the drive home ahead of me, so I nearly didn't watch the accompanying video, but I'm glad I did - it managed to add context to the exhibition, give it extra body.  Most of the video was Simon Brett talking about his practice and, apart from making me jealous both of his garden and of his studio in said garden, it showed a beautiful book collaboration with Crispin Elsted of Barbarian Press and calligrapher Andrea Taylor.  

Taking photos off the video made for some reasonably iffy pics, but with a bit of help they've scrubbed up adequate.  I liked, too, a whole string of other wood engravings he showed, of which this is the only one I snapped - I'm sure I stopped and started the video and ran it backwards and forwards enough times to double the length of it anyway.

He also made an observation that struck a bell - he said that what wood engravers do is printmaking, they're printmakers, but that many wood engravers he knew were really only interested in the block and didn't have much or any interest at all in the printmaking process itself.  I've never tried wood engraving (I'm going to, some time this year, I've promised) and I can't agree myself, I think the excitement of the 'reveal' is one of the great joys of printmaking, but I recognize one or two people who definitely fall right into that category.

As for my brave new year, um, I've decided it starts in February instead.  I'm not surprised that January didn't work out, though I'm ashamed of just how much it didn't, but better late than never?  Then there's a facebook page encouraging people to do a drawing for every day of February, 28 Drawings Later, and while I wouldn't commit to something I'm so unlikely to complete, I think I'll give it a go privately since drawing regularly is another of my never-realised good intentions.  Who knows, I might even manage it - but I'd better get a move on or today will have turned into tomorrow before I pick up a piece of paper.

It always grows to fill all available mindspace (allowing, I suspect, for quite a lot of barren or barely fertile ground, only capable of sustaining freecell and minesweeper, and mindless sci-fi on tv - the shame of it) and then it's over and I feel relieved and faintly bereft.  Something has been taken away and I miss it, while still being pleased it isn't there for a while.

Yes, the Manchester Artists Book Fair for this year has been and gone.  I always feel a little too close to it to judge how things went, but I know that I had a good time, which must be worth something.  I even had table space for my books this year - Emma very kindly gave up a day and a half of her time to look after things for me and (I knew she would) did a fantastic job of selling things for me, as well as generally helping out with everything else.  I'd like to put it all down to the boundless energy reserves of youth, but she's also very very good with people - it's something of a gift.  

Meanwhile I talked a lot and counted a lot and photographed a lot and made a fair number of cups of tea and coffee as well.  And, um, I might have spent a lot too.  Mind you, I have some very lovely books to show for it.

So now what?  Well there's still the 20:20 looming (and I still haven't figured out when I'm going to finish the edition for that) and the sorting of it, and then - because Emma was so super-efficient at shifting my work - I'd better get making books (and prints) for the Volume fair at the shiny new Birmingham library in December.  It's definitely time for some new work. 

This is another poster for this year's Manchester Artists' Book Fair - well, actually it'll be the catalogue cover, but I think it works nicely as a poster.  We distribute letterpressed bookmarks as flyers locally - set and mostly printed by Elizabeth Willow (letterpress artist, book artist, performance artist, probably everything-else artist too - she never seems to stop doing, yet still manages to look cool, calm and competent) - so the middle of the poster is a copy of this year's bookmark and the outside is a fabric pattern as printed (in burgundy) by our local risograph and eco-friendly printers marc.

Anyway, so I spent a good section of yesterday tramping round sections of Manchester leaving a trail of bookmarks wherever I thought they would be well received - hence the sore feet (better now, thanks for asking).  Plenty more to go, though.  They're often printed on discarded screenprints, resulting in a random range of designs - there have been a couple (or so) each year that I have failed to part with; the collection is coming along quite well.

And I managed to include a couple of exhibitions en route.  First was MMU Special Collection's The Language of Process: how new materials and technologies are changing product design ( Monday 23rd September - Friday 20th December; just ask on the ground floor of the library and they'll direct you).  I had bookmarks in mind, but (not surprisingly, on a saturday) the people I wanted weren't there to talk to.  The exhibition was there, however, so I had a good browse.  I thought it would be good - when I put it on the book fair site, I thought I should look up the named designers at least, and liked what I found - and it is good.  At first I wasn't quite sure just how good - the first few pieces are fine enough but not overly exciting - but then I reached the lit up section.  Remember, I don't approach this as a designer or even an artist - what I want is the 'ooo' factor, and for me the area with lights was where I first felt it.  I think my favourite piece of the show has to be the analog digital clock by Maarten Baas.  It looks just like a digital clock at first, but you don't have to watch for long before realising that something isn't... quite... right.  There are odd shadows.  Time changes surprisingly slowly.  What it turns out be instead is a film, 12 hours long, showing someone physically changing the time in front of your eyes by painting over and wiping off windows.  You can see them, moving about!  Isn't that great?  With the added little twist that back in the days of analogue only, 12 hours straight off just couldn't have been filmed.  Fantastic. I also thought My new flame by Moritz Waldmeyer for Ingo Maurer was rather brilliant - tall, slender, circuit board candles with digital flames at the top, but such wonderfully convincing flames.  I didn't blow at them, inspite of the urge, because I didn't want the disappointment of them not bending as I blew (and besides, what if they had done?  What if I 'blew' one out?  What then??).  There was, in fact, a shedload of excellent work there, and I'm not going to go through the lot because I think people should visit - so just a few more mentions.  The ripple tank table (Daniel O'Riordan) is a very understated but lovely item, a table with ripples on the surface - and you don't have to feed any fish.  I loved the idea of the chairfix by Ben Wilson - a simple design, made democratic by all being made from one sheet of many-ply wood, then made original again by the designs printed on it.  And Etive (Drummond Masterton) was a small metal cup (non-functional, as they described it) containing the topography of part of Glen Etive.  Most of the work, if not all of it, has computer design at the very heart of it - that is, after all, much of the point of the exhibition.

Later in the afternoon I made it to the John Rylands.  I had remembered that the Polari exhibition, organised by Jez Dolan and Joseph Richardson was on - Jez is a member of Hot Bed Press, so we were able to see some of the work being created.  I didn't want to miss the show, but it turns out that it's on till February, which is good because it was reasonably scattered and I'm sure I only found some of it on this visit.  I had forgotten, however, that the Boccaccio exhibition was showing too.  Lots of old, old books with dense type or script and with illuminated letters, plus a couple of cabinets full of artists' books made especially for the exhibition.  But I was really by now on the bookmark trail, so again a return visit is in order, and I have until December.  Though I must not wait that long!  I already have two exhibitions I'd like to see next week before they disappear.  It's too easy to think 'I still have time' until I don't.

I was going to talk about the Manchester Contemporary (already a week gone) as well, but maybe later. 

The 8th Manchester Artists' Book Fair  is once more just over the horizon.  It's a lot of work every year, as much as anything because of all the attendant anxiety - will the stands book up?  Will the exhibitors be satisfied with everything?  Will visitors come to the fair, enough to make it buzz?  I've added a new worry for this year - will anyone find the new website?  I'm working on that. 

I hope everyone who reads this will go take a look at the website, and then come to the fair in the autumn, not just because of the buzz we're hoping for, but because going to a book arts fair is a fantastic way to spend an afternoon.  I know, I'm biased, but really it is.  It's a little early to urge everyone to go - it's not till the 18th and 19th of October - but whatever, that's what I'm doing.  Put it in the diary now, and when the middle of October comes round, go see for yourself!     

There was a book arts open day at The Grange at Ellesmere this Saturday just gone.  And as we were (with a large side-curve from the straight route) passing, son and I visited.

We made it with less than an hour of the open day left to go, about which I am moderately gutted because it was utterly lovely.  I confess I didn't really look up at the house - it was manor-like, it was red brick, and I can see from the photo above (which at least looks familiar) that I should have given it more attention - because I was distracted by the garden (and that was before I reached the sunken garden further round) and the singers (Connie and Evie - they were excellent!) and the ambience and the peacefulness of the whole place.  Book arts aside, I could happily have drifted around, doubtless with a ridiculous dreamy look on my face, for several hours.  A sketchbook too - forget hours, I think I could have spent weeks there.

The book arts (such as we were able to see in the short amount of time we had) were scattered around the grounds, in and out of various buildings, and astoundingly good.  Christopher Rowlatt, book restorer and conservator and marbler and much more besides, was a little daunting (though I daunt easily) in his compendious knowledge, but I would have loved to make my way, page by page, through the book he was working on - a volume of David Hume's 'History of England from the Invasion of Julius Caesar to the Revolution in 1688', complete with engravings scattered throughout and printed (I had to check this from the associated blog) on thick, ivory James Whatman wove, watermarked 1794.  I think it might be highly instructive to lurk, unnoticed, while he works for a month or two.  Or six.  Or eighteen.

We couldn't resist a marbling demonstration (I would love to attend a course here) and son came away with his own bespoke sheet - I think I should ensure that it's turned into something useful for him (otherwise it's likely to be turned into something useful for me...). 

Elizabeth Willow, erstwhile Hot Bed Press resident book artist and now tutor there in letterpress, was (where else?) in the letterpress room, where she showed us their vandercook (no more detail than that from me, I'm afraid - I know nothing) and demonstrated it printing.  Oh what a lovely toy.  She must find the HBP adana presses (tiny, all power from your own elbow) so puny by comparison.  She showed us the foil blocker too, so now I have a flyer (I expect it has a less throwaway name) in black and red and a beautiful (and useful) foil-blocked bookmark.

There was a casting room too.  At this point my brain stopped working completely - I would love to know more, but I looked at the machinery and thought how very very very complicated it was and never really got past that point.  It was 5 to closing time by now so the machine was being put to bed, but I don't think I would have understood any more with a demonstration.  Maybe it's possible I could get my head a little more round the whole operation, but I'm far from convinced.  It delights me, though, that the casting of letterpress is happening.

And that was it.  I've already said I didn't look at the house or spend enough time in the garden; neither did I engage with calligraphy or illustration, each of which had a stand.  There were almost certainly other things we missed too.  Same time next year? 

Meanwhile, I'm taking a letterpress course with Elizabeth soon - should be good.

Print might or might not have an 'inferior' tag - though I'm not really sure how many people take much notice - but so, by all accounts, does illustration.  Is it that illustrators in the main have a master or masters?  Is it that they have sold their souls to commercial enterprise?  Is it true that they're considered second rate in some way?  Does anyone really care?  I mentioned to an artist once that I didn't understand that they were so very different, fine art and illustration.  He gave me a look and said "They just are".  Ok.

I only mention it because another of my regular stopping-off points in Bath is the delightful Rostra Gallery (previously Rostra and Rooksmoor) and their current exhibition is of works by Graham Carter - one-time (or, more probably, still an) illustrator, whose style remains definitely illustrative.  Son and I thought it was all great - though my own snobberies showed through when I reached some works and thought, in disappointed mind-tones: oh, gicleé, what a shame. 

Above is a small selection of Graham Carter's work, but there were shiny metal pieces and sculptural pieces and all sorts.  Some of the drawings in particular reminded me strongly of a very favourite illustrator, Shaun Tan. 

I like Rostra Gallery a lot, at least partly because it shows an enormous number of prints (that would be original prints, natch.  Or as some call them - ha! aren't words fun? - fine art prints) and plenty of craft (oh dear - another loaded word), much of which I would have no problem taking home with me, if I didn't (sometimes) remember how full the house is.  Need more walls. 

The straightforward across-on-the-M62-and-up-the-A/M1 journey to Newcastle cannot really be described as interesting.  Crossing the Pennines is always good, especially this particular time with the horizon silhouetted stunningly against a lovely early morning sky (why does a low sun in the morning look so very different to a low sun in the evening?  Or is that an illusion?) but I always forget how very wide Yorkshire is compared to the western side of the Pennines, and how relatively flat and featureless the route north is (I'd rather go up through Cumbria and then across on the 'B' road next to Hadrian's Wall - definitely a feature-full trip just about all the way).  Still, there were little landscape thrills, such as shiny bright fields of rape against a backdrop of dusty purple cloud, and a fleeting glimpse of Durham Cathedral, not to mention some amazing skies and an astonishingly broad strip of rainbow touching base in the field next to us on the return journey.  Due to some slapdash route planning just before I left, I missed the Angel of the North on the way up, but really, we needn't go into that.

Enough to say that I made it to the Baltic on the south bank of the Tyne and checked in for their first Artists' Book Fair.  A very enjoyable two days meeting lots of new book artists (and a few old acquaintances) and talking with them; meeting visitors who'd never been to such an event before and talking with them; meeting all the lovely organisers and staff associated with the fair and talking with them (you always talk a lot at book fairs).  It wasn't overly busy but it wasn't overly quiet either and I think everyone there had a good time.

One of the pleasure of book arts is how different everyone's work is - book arts is very much an umbrella term.  I'm only going to pick out one artist this time, whose work was completely different to anything I had seen at a fair before - Marie Marcano, whose experimental calligraphy was just fantastic. 

I didn't get enough of a look at the rest of the Baltic on this visit, though I did make a brief trip to the second floor library where the Book Apothecary, a Travelling Museum of Books, was on show.  I was (being just a tad keen on books) most taken with the curving wall of oldish books in the window - there were some fascinating tomes there, and I would happily have spent a few hours (or days) deconstructing the wall, leafing through any number of its building blocks and putting it all back together, perhaps short of just one or two of the most covetable bricks...

It really doesn't need saying, does it, that I didn't do all the preparations that I meant to, before the fair - making more stock of old pieces and perfecting the latest book - but it didn't matter.  Today at least, I am going to do nothing at all.