Books 1989 – 1993

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[over red decorative leaf] NINETEEN | YEARS | AND | COUNTING | [off leaf] A Retrospective Bibliography | 1969 to 1988 | [signature D’Ambrosio]  [#/75] | by D’Ambrosio 1989 

5 3/4 x 8 1/2 inches: [1]: Marbled endpaper extends over front cover, [2]: blank, [3]: title with signature, [4]: copyright, [5]: dedication, [6–7]: contents, [8]: image of folding scarf that extends to page 12, 9–12: preface, [13]: printed signature, 14: photo of You Dress “Funny” and Krome, 15: 1970, Chicago, Illinois, text of You Dress “Funny,” 16: photo of page of You Dress “Funny,” 17: 1970, text, 18” image of : “DaviT,” text, 19: 1970–71, text, 20: images of both versions of “Naomi, nude, “ text, 21: 1971, KROME, text, 22–23 Krome images, text, 24: photo of ANAKED, one, 25: 1971, ANAKED, one text, 26: photo of accordion-style binding, 27: 1972, text, 28: photo of block print “naked,” 29: 1972–73, text, 30: photo of Zarathustra, 31: 1973, ZARATHUSTRA, text, 32: photo of “Z-10 Second Cleansing,” text, 33: 1973, text, 34: photo Anamorphosis of Eve and slipcase, 35: 1974, ANAMORPHOSIS OF EVE, text, 36: photo of “The Creation of Adam,” 37: 1974, text, 38: photo of invitation to reception for Anamorphosis of Eve, 39: 1974–75, text, 40: photo of The Ondt & the Gracehoper, 41: 1975, he Ondt & the Gracehoper, text, 42: photo from page, 43: 1975: text, 44: photo of two Trapeze bindings, 45: 1976,CIRC CIRC CIRC, TRAPEZE, CIRCUS CIRCUS, text, 46: text, 47: 1976–77, text, 48: photo of A Checklist, 49: 1977, A CHECKLIST, text, 50: photo of The Mookse & the Gripes, 51: 1977, The Mookse & the Gripes, text, 52: photo of serigraph, 53: 1977, text, 54: photo of Literary Figures, 55: 1978, LITERARY FIGURES, text, 56: photo of “Lawrence Durrell” serigraph and print, 57:1978, text, 58: EMILY & OSCAR, photo of book, text, 59: 1979, Los Angeles, California, text, 60: THE CRUSADER, photo of book, text, 61: 1980, text, 62: THE LITTLE SAND CRAB, photo of book, text, 63: 1981, text, 64: DAISIES NEVER TELL, photo of book, text, 65: 1982, text, 66: photo of broadside, 67: 1982, text, 68: MASKS, photo of book, text, 69: 1983, text, 70: VENUS EXPLOR’D, photo of book, text, 71: 1983, text, 72: From an Island in Time, photo of book, text, 73: 1984, text, 74: The First Emperor of China, photo of book, text, 75: 1984, text, 76: BIRDS IN PARADISE, photo of book, text, 77: 1984, text, 78: photo of poster/broadside, text, 79: 1984: text, 80: Long After Ecclesiastes, photo of book, text, 81: 1985, text, 82: LAND OF THE INCAS, photo of book, text, 83: 1985, text, 84: Simonoff, the Learned Cat, photo of book, text, 85: 1985, text, 86: CALENDAR, photo of book, text, 87: 1985, text, 88: A FORTUNE, text, 89: 1986, LYN & ACE NORTON, text, 90: THE SMALL GARDEN OF GLORIA STUART, photo of book, text, 91: 1986, text, 92: photos of pages, 93: 1986, text, 94: A Traveling Exhibit of ex libris etchings by Scott FitzGerald, photo of book, text, 95: 1986, text, 96: ART DECO, photo of book, text, 97: 1987, text, 98: The Twilight of Orthodoxy in New England, photo of book, text, 99: 1987, text, 100: photo of poster/broadside, 101: 1987, text, 102: Shanghai - Mark Chester, photo of book, text, 103: 1987, text, 104: Beware the Ides of March, photo of book, text, 105: 1987, text, 106: Type-Faces: Ward Ritchie, photo of book, text, 107: 1988, text, 108: photo of poster/broadside, 109: 1988, text, 110: A Leaf from THE FIRST OF MAY, photo of book, text, 111: 1988, text, 112: “WINDJAMMERS,” photo of book, text, 113: 1988, text, 114: PRO-GRASS-TINATION, photo of book, text, 115: 1988, text, 116: LAGUNA VERDE, photo of book, text, 117: 1988, text, 118: The Inscriptions at Tor House and Hawk Tower, photo of book, text, 119: 1988, text, 120: photo of Gualala Poster/Broadside, text, 121: Afterward, 122: photo of The Colophon Club Poster/Broadside, text, 123: Afterward, 124: photo of Ward Ritchie’s 80th Birthday Poster/Broadside, text, 123: Afterward, 122: photo of Zane Grey frontispiece, text, 127: Afterward, 128: photo of 19 Years and Counting Poster/Broadside, text, 129: Afterward, [130]: blank, [131]: colophon, [132]: Marbled endpaper extends over back cover.

Colophon: This edition of

Nineteen Years and Counting 

has been printed with 

hand-set Della Robbia type 

on Johannot paper

with a Vandercook No. 4 proof press, 

and is limited to 75 numbered copies 

and 10 artist proofs.

This is 

copy

[underlined # in pencil]

The hand-marbled endpapers 

by Iris Nevins

were generously donated 

to this project by 

Rose Marie Daves 

of The Paper Source.

Cover: Quarter binding front cover hinged to the spine with gray leather, hinged to a full leather back cover. Copper on front cover wrapped around board with D”Ambrosio signature debossed into it.

Dust Jacket: Cloth lined with black paper surrounds and protects the covers. The cloth has a band of the same marbled paper wrapped around its top and bottom. The title is printed on the spine of the dust jacket.

Note dates at the tops of several pages are in red for 1969 to 1978, then in green for 1979 onward.

From A Memoir of Book Design

This is my retrospective bibliography encompassing the years 1969 to 1988, and includes all of the work that I had done up to that point. All of the type was hand set in my favorite typeface, Della Robbia (the one that Gloria Stuart bought for me as a birthday gift), and the entire edition of seventy-five copies (and ten artist's proofs) were printed by hand on a Vandercook No.4 proof press (also thanks to Gloria because she found the press and alerted me as to its being for sale). The No.4 has a motor that keeps the ink evenly distributed on the printing rollers, while the No. 3 that I had previously required hand cranking for this operation. The book is indexed by two methods. The pages are indexed by the year the work was done, and a separate index lists the work alphabetically with reference to the year and the page

number where it can be found.

The inclusion of color photographs was allowed only because of advice from Wally Dawes (The Paper Source/The Paper Mill, Los Angeles). I had planned to print black and white halftones [In order to print a photograph and maintain all the areas of gray from black to white, it is photographed through a mesh screen. The darker areas come through the screen in bigger dots while the lighter areas become smaller dots. These dots, when the human eye brings them together, automatically impart the halftones and the image of the photograph. A smaller mesh yields a sharper picture, but larger meshes are more conducive to letterpress printing.] on my letterpress printing machine, even though I knew that they would not look as well as if they were commercially printed because the technology of letterpress printing is really most compatible with printing raised lead type. He advised that the toners of machine colored copies would probably outlast the letterpress printing inks. So that is what was used. I am still not reasonably convinced that the colored toners won't flake off at some future time. The reason for my skepticism is that to save on the cost of the color copies (the technology was quite new at the time and quite expensive because of it) I placed a number of photos on one sheet of paper, and consequently had to cut each out separately for eventual positioning on each respective page. When cutting out the images, at times I would occasionally slice very close to their outer edges and the laser toner would crack into a myriad of loose specks where my cutting blade directly hit it. I took the photos for the book and included a carnation flower next to each work so the viewer could visually calculate each book's relative size.

The existence of this bibliography is yet another example of my serendipitous career. A noted English typographer saw The Small Garden of Gloria Stuart (1986), and commented to Gloria Stuart that it was a lovely book but that it was such a shame to destroy it by binding it in that crass shiny gold kid leather. When Gloria informed me of the comment, I realized that the typographer could not possibly have read the story or he would have known that the "crass shiny gold kid" is a symbol of the Hollywood "tinsel town" community and totally relevant to the story. I relayed this to Gloria. She obviously told the typographer what I said because the next time we met he mentioned that I should make a record of my reasons for my varied book designs so that others would know what my intentions are. Also, in this gentleman's favor is that when this bibliography came out, he was the only one to comment on the practicality of showing the relative size of the work by using the carnation flower.

Because of the logistics involved in hand producing a bibliography, I could not go into great detail about the reason and production of each book. I could only cover the basic or major design facets of each book. All of the type was set by hand and printed by hand on the recently acquired Vandercook No.4 press. All of the color photos were tipped in by hand, and, of course, the edition was hand bound. Consequently only a few items are covered for each entry. The present memoir (and the use of the computer as a tool rather than a toy) has allowed me to go into greater detail about each work, and allowed for more insight into design production and motivation.

This work is a classic example of an author's bringing the reader into his confidence. Because the text of this book was not a story, I had no preconceived notion of what the binding would eventually look like. In the epilogue at the end of the book, I tell the reader what my plans are for the binding, but that I am still not sure if those plans will be fulfilled, and that the result will be a surprise to us both. Since my heart and soul are included in everything I do, I knew that the end result had to be something physical and organic, something that evoked my blood and guts, and the bone and sinew that held it all together. But how does one evoke such an image without the result looking like butcher shop gore?

RoseMarie Dawes arranged for Iris Nevins to create special marbled paper for this book. The paper (although probably not intentionally) evokes plasma running through a body. The quarter binding of the front cover is hinged to the spine with gray leather and that is hinged to a full leather back cover. This allows the book to open much flatter than it would without hinging (it would open even flatter if the pages were sewn but not glued as they are). The balance of the front cover is copper wrapped around board with my signature debossed into it. The arrangement of the copper is such that it allows a river the marbled paper to flow diagonally between the cover sections. The same marbled paper makes up the endpapers. The marbled paper flyleaf is laminated to the recto side of the first page. This was done not for any structural reason, but for aesthetics. The back of the marbled paper quite naturally shows indications of its production, which in this case is not pleasing to the eye. I am fond of showing origins as design elements but not when they intrude upon the basic intentions of a design feature.

A dust jacket of cloth lined with black paper surrounds and protects the covers. The cloth has a band of the same marbled paper wrapped around its top and bottom. This feature is not only decorative, but wrapping the paper around the edges of the cloth keeps it from unraveling. The title is printed on the spine of the dust jacket. In hindsight, I have one misgiving: the black dye of the dust jacket paper lining is offsetting onto the gray leather leaving a permanent stain where it rubs against the cover. This could have been, and should have been, sealed with an acrylic spray fixative. A water-based glue

sealant would only make the paper permanently bubbled.

I believe this is the first time that I use the tactile surface of fibrous paper as a visual element. In this case I have used Ogura paper, which has very thick fibers. With white glue l adhere it to four-ply board and then cut out a design. I then place a permanent coat of white glue over the entire surface to preclude the rolling pressure of the printing press tympan from tearing it apart. It survives a surprising number of impressions. Using shims, I raise it to standard type-high elevation and allow the ink to only roll over the fibers. I used it for the title page, on which the shape is that of an anatomical heart as opposed to a commercial Valentine's Day heart. I used the same method to create an abstract form to visually guide the reader into, and through, the preface. It begins on the preceding page, enters the first page of the preface, and continues on uninterrupted around the edges of pages and through the folded gutters (sometimes even changing color) throughout the entire preface. It is not used within the body of the bibliography or it would turn the expository nature of the subject matter into subjective elements.

And where did I learn the terms "expository" and "subjective"? When I worked for the electrical utility in the Chicago area, I literally was passed around to many competing departments. I began as a mail boy because I was not sure of what I seriously wanted to do with the rest of my life. I was twenty-two years old at the time and newly discharged from my four-year tour of duty in the U.S. Navy. A menial job seemed the best place to think about my present situation until | was ready to get serious about my future. I had just turned down a good position offered to me by Western Union. I had electronic training from the U.S. Navy, including teletype maintenance school where I mastered troubleshooting a highly complicated teletype machine, and radio operators' school where I sat at a typewriter and instantly typed a letter corresponding to the Morse code symbol that entered my ear. Although my time in the U.S. Navy was beneficial to me in teaching me discipline, I had missed a lot of social living during that time and my plan was to make up for it. I had no art training at that time, but for some reason that eludes me, I was soon elevated from the position of mail boy and found myself drawing black and white single-line illustrations for training manuals in an educational department at the electrical utility. The commentary would be instructive on either safety (predominant in an electrical utility) or on the usage of various tools, or how to climb a utility pole. The commentary had to be expository, with no subjective overtones to indicate a bias for or against a method or idea or a socket wrench. We were simply drones being drone-like and promoting droneism. It was only later when I was attending the Illinois Institute of Technology to become an electrical engineer (because I could not get into engineering management at the electrical utility without an engineering degree even though I was only drawing pictures for a living) that I came upon the difference between "expository" and "subjective" in a creative writing course. And, of course, the reason we had to learn the meaning of "subjective" was so we would not use it; everything we wrote at a technical school had to be "expository." Subjective writing is description which is colored with nuances to stimulate the brain's various senses and project emotion along with relationships. A light went on within my brain. I theorized that if I could expositorily show a reader that I had no bias, think of what I could accomplish by coating the pretense with wonderfully subjective material. I could twist and turn a reader's view-point. I tried my theory out with a few essays, and soon learned that readers can be hooked into a story with a subjective title, but are not stupid, and in the end an author must deliver what he or she promises. I made an oath to myself to obfuscate only to surprise readers with something they would never expect-something wonderfully uplifting or something beautifully sad. I certainly didn't want to go into politics. That is where I began to see this sort of illusion flagrantly displayed. And, I thought, think of what could be communicated with abstract art along

with the words. But, wait, I'm getting ahead of myself

©Book Club of California

[red grape vines with grape clusters] Old Wine | [black image of man eating grapes] | [red grape vines with grape clusters] | Fine Wine ? | [red print] by | Roy Brady | [black] SANT SUSANA PRESS | California State University | Northridge Libraries | 1990.

6 3/4 x 8 7/8 inches, blue endpaper, [1]: [blank] title, [2]: blank, [3]: title page, [4]: copyright, [5]: yellow leaf, [6]: blank, [7], green and red leaves, [8]: blank, [9]: multicolor leaves, [10]: blank, [11]: [red] title, 12: blank: 13–37: text [38]: blank, 39: NOTES, [40]: blank, 41: Bibliography, [42]: blank, 43–44: Epilogue, [45–46]: blank, [47]: colophon, [48]: blank, blue endpaper. [Signature of D’Ambrosio ’90 at bottom of inside of back cover in white]

Colophon:

This edition of Roy Brady’s [signature of Brady]

Old Wine, Fine Wine?

was designed and produced by D' Ambrosio [signature of D’Ambrosio]

using 14 pt. Centaur type, 

monotyped by M & H Type, 

and printed on Johannot paper 

with a Vandercook No. 4 proof press 

for Santa Susana Press under the direction of 

Norman Tanis, [signature of Tanis]

Dean of Libraries,

California State University,

Northridge, California.

This is 

copy [underlined # in pencil]

of 65 copies

Binding: Red cloth with 3-D grapes at outer aspect of front and back with surrounding silver leaves. Spne with blue paper printed with: Old Wine, Fine Wine? [ornament] Brady.

Blue cutaway slipcase with reverse negative opening.

From A Memoir of Book Design:

This was another commission from Norman Tanis at California State University at Northridge for Santa Susana Press. And, once again, I tried to refuse to do it. It is a scholarly work about old wine not ageing as well as the price of the bottle would indicate. It is a good thing that I don't listen to my own line of reasoning or | would never have done many of the pieces that I have done. I simply felt that the kind of work I do is better suited to fantasy than to legitimate exposition. However, I do admit when I am wrong-which, in my case, is quite often. To add to my discomfort, the author was living. How would he accept what I would do to his words? I guess, as an author myself, 1 must convey the necessary respect for another's words, because this author (as all the others I have worked with) was totally pleased with what I did, and did not try to intrude upon my design as he saw it taking shape. In fact, in later years he wanted to collaborate once again, but that never happened. Norman Tanis was railroaded into early retirement by the politics of academe. At one point, Norman offered me room in the University Library where I could do my work, all gratis. I turned him down because I did not feel comfortable with a kindness that undoubtedly had to be somehow repaid. I wanted to continue to do my own work in my own way without being subject to a higher power. If I had accepted a room in which to work, I would have been out on the street even before Norman.

I am quite fond of this book, especially the title page. I was pleased that Norman accepted my first design without a negative statement. He could have been concerned that the eroticism on the title page might cause a backlash on campus, but he had been through many campus dilemmas in his many years at the college and had developed a rather tough skin to the nay sayers. There was even a photo of this "maverick" in the faculty dining room as a young man in tattered dungarees and long hair helping to build the actual one-story building which housed the dining room.

The letters of the title are composed of twisted grape vines around an image of Bacchus, the mythological god of wine. Clusters of grapes hang from the title. Bacchus is eating a bunch of grapes from one hand, and with the other he holds a cup below his penis as he pees into it. He is in the process of making wine with his body. This time, in order to print the title in one color and Bacchus in another, two separate metal plates were made from my drawing. For the third color, that of the grapes, I used a paper printing plate that had to be printed first because the color had to be below the outline of the grapes. [You will probably not find the term "paper printing plate" in any books on printing. learned how to do this from Susan Acker at The Feathered Serpent Press in Northern California. Four-ply archival board is composed of four thick layers of pulped paper and is about 1/16th of an inch thick. The four plies are glued together much the same as a sheet of plywood. Generally I draw an outline of what want to print on the top surface of the board and then, with an X-acto knife, I remove that part of the board that I do not want to print. This leaves a surface object which is print-able. Don't forget that it must be the reverse of the way you actually want it to look. Then I glue it to another four ply board to give it a base, and I coat the entire surface with another coat of white glue. A textured surface can be achieved by waiting until the glue becomes tacky and then stippling it with a brush or stroking the brush through it.] And, consequently, I had to know precisely where on the page the outline of the grapes would appear or else the color would not match up with the outline. The title with the grape clusters was printed on a sheet of paper which was then glued down to a four-ply board Then the first two plies of the board were removed (including the title), all except for the grape clusters, and then coated with white glue for permanence. All that remained was to position it correctly in the bed of the printing press.

The other fondness I have for this book is the printing of actual grape leaves. I got them from a friend in Northern California (Napa Valley wine-country and had a disaster with my first attempt. With water-based white glue, I glued the leaves to paperboard and coated them with white glue (as I had with other paper printing plates). By shimming, I raised it type high to print on the printing press. It didn't last a single printing. The rolling tympan of the press immediately tore it into shreds. I can't recall if I tried sundry adhesives, but I probably did. I ended up by taking a chance on the fixative for adhering gold leaf. I glued the leaf down to the paperboard with this fixative, and then I coated the leaf with the same substance, which is lacquer-based The leaf was not dried out, so as the fixative dried, moisture from the leaf rose and clouded the area between the leaf and its coating. I thought that this was another bad experiment. I slowly peeled away the cloudy fixative to reveal a lovely hermetically sealed leaf. This printed the entire edition and could have gone on printing many more impressions. It was still intact the last time I saw one of the plates.

I tried to make the typesetting for this book a little easier on myself and had M&H Type in San Francisco set it for me on their monotype caster. This still allowed me to move the type around, as opposed to a linotype caster where the type is fixed into position. The page design is the one I used before where the outside edges are even and the inside are not. I took this one step further. In the first instance, at the end of a paragraph I used a row of ornaments to fill in the line. In this case I broke each paragraph by inserting an ornament wherever the break occurred. This maintained a totally unified block of text and is visually pleasing. The ornament was printed in a separate color (in this case, burgundy, for the color of wine), which visually gives the page another asset for those who are intimidated by a very "black" page with little white space except in the margins.

The page numbers are another design advancement for me. I had noticed in an incunabulum that Albert Sperisen in San Francisco had shown me, an extremely logical and sensible method of pagination. [The term "Incunabulum," (the plural is incunabula) is derived from the Latin, meaning swaddling clothes; cradle. It is used by bibliophiles to denote a book printed before 1501, the period during which books were evolving from handwritten pages to those printed on a press.] | can't imagine why it became obscure. Where all contemporary books that I have seen use pagination, they do so by putting the page numbers so they mirror each other on the pages. Familiarity is probably the justification. Readers like consistency. However, when the eye reads and is at the bottom of a recto page, if the page number is at the lower right hand corner, the eye moves naturally from the last line to the page number. Then, when the page is turned and the reader is on the verso side, if the ensuing page number is at the top of the left-hand corner, the reader will see it while the eye is on its way to the first line of the next page. A reader will never make the error of turning more than one page at a time because the signals are all set up along the eye-track. This is precisely the pagination method which has been used for the book you are presently reading.

The binding is the third reason I like this work. While the reader is reading about the making of wine, the reader's hands are clutching a bunch of grapes. The grapes are made of cast paper, colored with acrylic-based pigment, and heavily coated with acrylic gloss medium for protection from oily fingers. The grapes are sandwiched between two layers of board and a direct result of the lessons learned in Of Bookmen & Printers (1989), where it was necessary to reverse the usual binding process to achieve the desired goal. The leaves are Japanese silver tea-chest paper, and the fabric is Italian linen. Since gluing to the surface of fibrous linen may not be permanent because of the loose fibers, the linen is removed from below the silver leaves and

the leaves are actually glued to the board beneath.

You may remember that | first used a cutaway slipcase opening for The Little Sand Crab (1981) because it made it easier to retrieve a miniature book from its protective case. The slipcase for this book again uses the device for easy access but has instead a reverse negative opening. The reverse opening is purely a design caprice on my part. The miniature book A Traveling Exhibit (1986) does not come with a slipcase. I made just one so that I would have something to carry it in when I give workshops and slide presentations and exhibit it. The opening has a cutaway section for easy access. When I fabricated it, however, 1 inadvertently put one side of the slipcase wall upside down so that one side wall is a negative of the opposite side. I like it, but it has no useful function so I never used it again. Since this book addresses a subject not quite being as presented (i.e., having an old vintage wine and still tasting like vinegar), this seemed like a good time to resurrect the idea.

©Book Club of California

JD’A 29: OLYMPE & HENRIETTE – 1992 

O | L | Y | M | P | E | AND | HENRIETTE | by | Villiers de L'Isle-Adam | with | an 

introduction | by Patrick Magarick | and handmade paper | Madeleine Pestiaux | Livre d’Art by D’Ambrosio | 1992.

6 x 9 x 2 inches: [most pages scalloped], gray endpaper, [i–ii]: blank, [iii]: image, [iv]: blank, [v]: title through net, [vi]: blank, [vii]: image, [viii]: blank, [ix–x]: introduction, [xi]: dedication, [xii]: blank, 1–3: text inside pop-up frames, 4–5: text, 6–11: text inside pop-up frames with images, 12–12: text over image, 14–19: text inside pop-up frames with images, , 20–24: text with images, [25–26]: blank, [27]: colophon, [28]: blank, gray endpaper.

Colophon:

This edition of Olympe and Henriette 

by Villiers de L'Isle-Adam, with an 

introduction by Patrick Magarick, 

is designed and produced by D' Ambrosio, 

using hand set 14 pt. Greeting Monotone, 

and Fournier (Introduction/ Colophon) types; 

printed on Madeleine Pestiaux's handmade

"Misty Rose" paper, using a Vandercook 

No. 4 proof press, with Van Son's inks:

Brick Dust and Slate Gray. All 

multicolored areas obtained 

through the medium 

of serigraphy.

This is 

copy [in pencil, underlined #]

of 75 copies 

and to artist's proofs

[signature of D’Ambrosio]

Binding: Pastel-printed cotton fabric. The spine is a stiff, four-ply board with the accordion pleats attached to either side. It has, in turn, another quarter binding board extending from it on both the front and back side. The entire section is wrapped with a single-color fabric. The decorative fabric wrapped around a separate four-ply board is then adhered to the cover box. The title is printed on a strip of paper pasted to the spine.

From A Memoir of Book Design:

Pat Magarick (whom I mention in Daisies Never Tell, 1982, and Trudy

1989), brought this French satire by Villiers de L'Isle Adam to my attention. I knew immediately that it was something I wanted to tackle because of my fondness for exposing human duplicity and hypocrisy. It is a simple tale, beautifully and heart-warmingly told, of two sisters whose livelihood is prostitution. Their career is portrayed no differently than if they went off to a factory or an office every day—it is the way they make their living. The conflict arises because they really do have principles; when one of the sisters does sex for love rather than for money she brings shame upon their value system.

Because the author in his satirical communication writes on various intellectual levels, I chose to represent his words by presenting them on various physical levels. Hence most of the pages open up into boxes which have more than one surface and varying distances from printed surfaces. The printed text may appear on the upper level on one page and then on the lower level on another page, and sometimes on bark levels of a particular page. And, since the text shares the paper with abstract forms, the forms themselves vary from level to level. 

Madeleine Pestiaux in Los Angeles handmade all of the wonderfully pinkish paper, and I printed the text using fourteen point Greetings Monotone, normally used for business cards. I had never seen it used as the basis for story telling, and it worked quite nicely to impart the ambiance of the time period. It has a wonderful art nouveau style. Every collapsing box page had to be hand cut with an X-acto knife and all of the hinges reinforced with like colored cloth. The fore edges themselves are composed of erose, undulating rococo shapes.

The title page begins the boxlike presentation. When the cover is opened, two surfaces are revealed. The title can be viewed on the lower surface through black mesh fabric (black net stockings suggest, for me, the typical prostitute's wear; this is probably a generality reinforced by motion pictures but that's just the way it is). The surface above and below the openings in the paper contain the rest of the title information. The black net fabric is adhered to the back side of the upper level paper. Since this is a book-in-a-box structure which, because it is totally contained, would retain an aroma, I thought of spraying the interior with perfume. I withheld that feature because I thought it was a bit too far to take this satire. However, if I had it to do again, I would Care would have to be taken not to saturate the paper too deeply with the oil in the perfume.

Each box is in a flat collapsed state until that particular page is turned and then it automatically opens to become a four-sided box with depth. The reader's kinetic energy becomes the prime mover. Because the collapsing hinges create extra bulk at the fore edge of the book block (the spine area hinges utilize a portion of the preceding page for this purpose so there is no added bulk), the fore edge of the book block is much thicker than the spine. This results in a wedge shape to the book block, with the spine area being thinner than the fore edge. This condition is directly in reverse to that of a usual codex binding. It is optically alleviated by using false angular spaces in the cover structure. This leads to a square book-like and boxlike appearance, when in reality it is a mass of interior angles. This unusual construction led to cover joints that feature accordion pleats composed of fabric over single-ply board. They appear to be floating but not all of them do. The inside pleat on each side of the spine is actually adhered to the shoulder of the book block. The spine, however, must float (be moveable) in order for the mechanism to work properly. The balance of the covers are pastel-printed cotton fabric, and the endpapers are Roma paper. The spine is a stiff, four-ply board with the accordion pleats attached to either side. It has, in turn, another quarter binding board extending from it on both the front and back side. The entire section is wrapped with a single-color fabric. This section is the first to be adhered to the book block and the cover box at the same time. The decorative fabric wrapped around a separate four-ply board is then adhered to the cover box. The title is printed on a strip of paper pasted to the spine.

©Book Club of California

D' Ambrosio’s DAVID | The Players | DAVID……….14 point Kabel Light type | Michelangelo.....18 point Humanistic type (reduced to 14 point) | A Nonparticipant Observer..... 14 point Duchess type | with handmade paper by MADELEINE PESTIAUX | with photography by WALLACE RHODES | with model DAVID MICHAEL SOLOMON

13 x 10 inches: i: text on left, mold of rock in center, photo of foot on right, [on same leaf]: ii: text on left, depressed mold of rock in center, iii: text on right, iv: text on left, mold with partial figure in center, photo of arm and half torso on right, [on same leaf]: v: text on left, depressed mold in center, vi: text on right, vii: text on left, mold with more complete figure in center, photo of arm and half torso on right, [viii]: blank, [ix]: text on left, mold with complete figure in center, photo of full body on right, [x]: blank, [xi]: copyright, 1–25: black and red text, (1,3 & 5) debossed, 98–11, 13, & 15): colored images, (21–24): holes in paper with felt on 25, 26–27: black text, 28–49: text with black and red on recto and black on verso, 50–55: text in black and red, 56–57: text in black, [58]: blank, [59]: colophon, [60–62]: blank.

Colophon:

This livre d'art carries no colophon.

The people and circumstances 

which contributed to its end 

over the past five years 

are so numerous that it would require 

a completely separate book 

to offer a satisfactory explanation.

The original purpose 

of the exploration 

which prompted this work 

was to investigate

the conflict of civil rights 

in today's society.

As the reader may see,

the results of this experiment

evolved into chaos,

from which all life is made, 

and upon which it seems to thrive.

This is copy [#] 

of an edition

of 25 copies

[signature in pencil ’93]

Binding: Molded paper with window, Lamb skin extending over spine. 

Clam-shell box 13 1/2 x 10 3/4 x 3 3/8 inches.

From A Memoir of Book Design:

I am often asked to explain the creative process. Basically, which comes first, the design for the presentation binding structure or the story? In those cases where the story is already written by someone else, the answer is obvious. In those instances where I also write the story, it is not so obvious and sometimes quite complex. This is one of those complex cases. I mention in the entry for Pro-grass-tination (1988) the coming together of all the parts and pieces at one time, and then reducing or adding to each so that the text and the visuals and the binding all blend into a balanced single unit. This work is similar, but decidely different. I will try to explaก.

The idea for this book began as an experiment in conflicting civil rights, when opposing life styles clash. Since I basically do not write a story, but am actually a reporter relating what is taking place after I have created the characters and the scene, this method is justifiable. But it is not an official study. In fact, because of the homosexual content, some have expressed the thought that this book is autobiographical. I can honestly say it is not. The end turned out to be a genuine surprise to me, which is reflected in the colophon where I comment that it "turned into chaos from which all life arises and seems to thrive.”

The complexity of the creation of this work comes from the comparison of individual civil rights with the creation of Michelangelo's statue of David. Placing a male nude statue in a public area was a very bold move, especially when it was done on the heels of Savonarola's reign. [Girolamo Savonarola (1452-1498) was an Italian reformer, and in essence wanted to reform the government into an ecclesiastical body. He is famous for the burning of books to keep the populace from gaining any knowledge that in their childlike minds could not be used for the advancement of themselves or for the worship of the Church. In my research for this book, l found that Michelangelo adhered to this man's teachings while he was in power. Also in my research, I found that Michelangelo himself would opportunistically follow any path that led to a commission or a means to continue his artistic work. This is not to demean him, for it is understandable from an artist's standpoint, that without financial backing and authoritative approval, many great works of art would never have come into being. It is wonderful to be a free spirit with candid ideals, but only those who are financially wealthy can do so without making compromises.] I can recall that in the many years this book was whirling around inside my brain (even before the five years it took to create twenty-five copies and another year to bind), I would go to sleep at night contemplating how the entire nesting of the statues would actually look and be reproduced. I would especially use this method for trying to get to sleep on that first night in another bed far from home when sleep normally did not come swiftly enough. (Prior to the inception of this book, I did not count sheep to put myself to sleep, but instead built buildings from the foundations up in a predetermined unorthodox design.) So perhaps the structure dictated the subject matter, but so did Michelangelo's poetry, which ultimately steers the direction of the story. What I had no idea would arise are two concepts I have never heard of before. The first is that Michelangelo's David is not circumcised even though he is a Jew, and the second is that of Michelangelo's serendipitous logic in creating a human statue with a natural stance simply because that part of the marble block had previously been cut away and the only way to make use of the block was to give the David a slight shift of the hip, which displayed a natural balance as opposed to the previous use of classical stiff-bodied poses.

The exterior of the book is made up of cast paper and Masonic sheep. [The term "Masonic sheep" for the skin of a sheep is derived from the Masons in England who used white sheepskin for aprons.] The sheep is very soft and almost erotic in feeling like human skin. The sheep is used on a portion of the front cover, the spine, and completely on the back cover. The cast paper suggests a marble quarry with a hint of the figures waiting to be released by the sculptor's chisel. In the center is a suggestion of the original block from which the David was sculpted. One section has been previously chipped away, which is documented. I don't believe that any documentation exists that explains what the real block looked like, however. It is a presumption on my part, based on the stance of the statue, that it looked like this representation. The binding is a book-in-a-box structure. It needn't have been except for the fact that structurally the cover needed reinforcement above and below the David block; that is where a section of the cover cast paper is open to allow the David block to protrude within it, because it is adhered to the first page of the book and not to the front cover itself. The uprights of a book-in-a-box structure worked perfectly for this purpose. They structurally act as I-beams. The cast paper was first molded in Roma Plastina clay, and then a reverse mold was made from that so I could cast a positive image. In actuality the book block with its nested cast paper statues was created first and then five years later the cover was created to fit around the David block. [This book is presented in an unusual clam-shell box covered in black cloth. Because the cast paper rises considerably from the base of its front cover, I wanted that feature to make an instant impression, and immediately expose itself when the clam-shell box is opened. Usually the sides of a box are the same height as the book. That was not accept able in this case. So, the sides of the box had to rise only high enough to cover the pages of text but not the breadth of the cover. However, the necessary friction to keep the cover closed is gone because the surface area has been diminished. The answer was to create a catch on the top and bottom of the side of the box which would keep it closed, but only release when the top part of the box is swung in an arc. An exterior kidney-shaped hook allows the box to be picked straight up without the weight of the book forcing it to fall downward The catch is similar to that on the case depicted at the bottom of page 140.] When the front cover is opened, the David block remains in place because it is adhered to the first page of text. When that page is turned another statue is exposed on the following page because it is nested underneath and within the David block. This statue is not fully carved and through successive page turnings and nested cast-paper statues, the technique of Michelangelo carving the ultimate figure is revealed. The nested cast paper statues within the book were molded from latex which, over the course of five years, shrank a quarter of an inch. The shrinkage destroyed any chance of nesting dimensional images other than those which were cast at the same period in time. That meant that the cover would not fit over the book block if it had shrunk. Another method of creating a mold for the cover of the book had to be found; a poured rubber mold rather than one made of latex. It is poured with a catalyst, as opposed to the latex, which is built up by painting over successive layers. I didn't know that Roma Plastina clay and poured rubber do not mix. My first attempt self-destructed and I had to make another clay model with a different kind of clay.

When the cover is opened, the David block remains in the center and the reader is confronted by a column of type on one side and a portion of a photograph on the other side. The typeface is Della Robbia and I, the author, am speaking. Every time the reader sees this typeface it signifies that I am talking. I expound on Michelangelo, his life, and the specific time when he carved the David. The photograph is a portion of a male body which will in ensuing pages take the full shape of a contemporary young man named David. He will also be nude. As the reader turns the pages of this first section (before the title page), nested cast paper statues of the sequential carving of the statue of David are revealed. When the final completed statue is revealed, the full nude photograph of David is also revealed, and a poem by Michelangelo is presented. I am told the poem was somehow attached to the statue prior to its unveiling; it is Michelangelo answering his detractors. 

Finding the correct person to pose for the photograph of the contemporary David was no easy task. Ultimately, the model was a young carpenter by the name of David Solomon who, after I asked him to pose, told me that his mother named him after Michelangelo's statue. The one criterion that was important was that the model have prehensile toes as does the real statue. I did not even consider asking David if he was circumcised. When he finally arrived at the photographer's studio for the shoot and took off his clothes, the story took on another dimension and an uncircumcised statue of a Jewish David provided another wonderful instance of irony-because the real David Solomon was indeed circumcised.

To make a mold from which to cast paper, first a clay model of the object must be sculpted by hand. In this case the nesting of the cast-paper statues showing sequential carvings of the statue from beginning to end had to be redone after an initial attempt. I assumed that Michelangelo would work as other artists that I have known, which is to work on various parts of a piece and have the entire work evolve into a finished expression all at one time. I learned after I had made my clay models and my molds that this assumption was incorrect and that he would work on a section and almost finish it before he went on to another section. His theory was that he was trying to uncover the body trapped within the marble. It does make logical sense.

The title page follows with a legend explaining the different typefaces and who is speaking when each one is used. The layout of the story on the page of the first half of the book has three voices on it. The first is Michelangelo's, speaking in the Humanistic typeface. [Before the Humanistic type face was procured, 1 wanted to use an actual Merrymount Press type face called Michelangelo. The type was not available anywhere. This is a computer version very similar to the actual face but instead called, Adriano. I contacted the Updike archives in the Northeast and they were kind enough to send to me on loan the original brass matrices of the face. All I had to do was to get a foundry to cast it. The problem was that the original dies had different bases than what is now used in font typecasters. The only way to use the matrices was to cut away the base of every character. I would not do it, and returned the molds intact with my sincere appreciation for the effort.] (When Albert Sperisen in San Francisco heard that I was working on this book, he offered me the only font of Humanistic existing on the West Coast.) The next voice is that of the contemporary David, and he speaks in the modern sans serif face of Kabel. I chose a modern face because the character is modern. The third voice is of a supposedly unbiased onlooker; that voice is set in Duchess typeface. Actually, this is a ruse, and the bystander plays a bigger part in the plot than appears at the beginning of the story. Credit on the title page is also given to the photographer, to Madeleine Pestiaux who made the paper to specifications which merged its surface texture perfectly with my cast paper, and to David Solomon, the model for the contemporary young David In getting to know David Solomon, I found he is artistically inclined and writes psalms. I asked him to write a psalm for the middle of this book When he presented me with a poem but no music (I had expected music because I equated the term "psalm" with a sacred song, although it certainly could be a poem), I asked if I could present his poetry in a lyrical way, and he agreed to it. I did this by raising and lowering the letters of type so that they are not on one straight line on the page. This recalls the presentation of type as fluttering leaves in The Small Garden of Gloria Stuart (1986).

The first half of the book has the contemporary David telling his own story. As I have stated, I create the characters and the settings, and then report what they are doing and saying. In this case Michelangelo's poetry is steering the story and appears on every page as one of the voices. [*Initially, I thought I would have to go to Florence, Italy, to research the artist and his work. That did not occur because I found at The Los Angeles County Library in downtown L.A. everything I needed. In fact, they even provided me with an Italian interpreter for those books that are in Italian. A problem, however, does arise from having too much information. There are many different books of Michelangelo's poetry, and each one is translated by a different person, so the English version turns out differently each time. I had to choose one, and I did-never knowing if it was the closest to the actual meaning by the author himself.] Although I had latitude from which to choose the best poem for that particular section, I could not control the actions of my main character. By the time the center of the story is realized I had, as an author, become so disgusted with the actions of my main character, David, that I took the story away from him and began telling it from my own viewpoint. I switch to the Della Robbia typeface once again to signify that indeed I, the author, am speaking. You will recall that the contemporary David is speaking in the Kabel typeface. But the character I have created is so strong that I cannot totally remove him from the page. And he is objecting to my telling of his story. So, the last half of the book has yet again three voices on a page: Michelangelo's poetry; mine, as the author; and the contemporary David's. Using the same typeface throughout for each character helps to let the reader know from which viewpoint the story is being related. The battle between author and character for control of the story is so intense that it precludes any graphic artwork, and the entire presentation is done through the use of typography. With the Kabel typeface, David's text block literally pushes my Della Robbia text block off to the outer edge of the page. The character eventually takes control once again and forces the author to make his comments in a subordinate roll from the outer margins. The contemporary David dies at the end of the book. On the final page, in the area where his typeface would normally appear, there is blank space. I certainly did not like him, but not enough to "kill" him. Michelangelo died, so David had to also. That is in keeping with Michelangelo's poetry and its steering of the story line.

©Book Club of California