Well that was busy. Another bookarts fair, another dash for stock. So much for my heartfelt protests that it would Never Be Like That Again. In my defence, it truly wasn't as bad as the Tiger Blue run-up to Glasgow, but only because I didn't take on quite such a daunting challenge. True, I did again make a book in a week (I have to stop doing this), 'Guilty', but it didn't include several multi-layer linocuts or laborious stamping of words or - and this might be as crucial as anything else - unbacked bookcloth. It did include embossing so fine that it was difficult to see (oh clever! but there was, natch, no time to make a plate with deeper cuts) and oodles of paper that had to remain clean, including the binding, but it worked out ok and that's good enough for me. Gratifyingly (boast alert) a copy was bought for the Tate Special Collection (or whatever it is that the Tate call it) which feels like a form of official approval. My work here is done. I can ascend to another plane of existence. Or something. Actually, having seen the Tate collector disappear later on with a number of gently bulging carrier bags, I assume my book had plenty of company, but that doesn't have the the slightest effect on my delight. When I've taken some decent photos (ie the emboss needs to show) I'll stick them on the website.
However, having virtually no books ready to lay out, and a whole table to lay them out on, most of this last week has been spent printing and cutting and sticking and binding until there were books to lay out. I got there in the end by dint of staying up too late and getting up too early and feeling hung over with exhaustion at times, but as ever I only have myself to blame. Because the house only had me in for this last week, I transferred a certain amount of operations here, with the result that the floor in the dining room is disappearing under a layer of finely snipped scraps of paper and hastily discarded unnecessary larger sheets. Not to mention (so I shan't go in to detail) the rest of it. But for tonight I'm doing nothing. I'll deal with all of that tomorrow.
However, having virtually no books ready to lay out, and a whole table to lay them out on, most of this last week has been spent printing and cutting and sticking and binding until there were books to lay out. I got there in the end by dint of staying up too late and getting up too early and feeling hung over with exhaustion at times, but as ever I only have myself to blame. Because the house only had me in for this last week, I transferred a certain amount of operations here, with the result that the floor in the dining room is disappearing under a layer of finely snipped scraps of paper and hastily discarded unnecessary larger sheets. Not to mention (so I shan't go in to detail) the rest of it. But for tonight I'm doing nothing. I'll deal with all of that tomorrow.
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