Books 1996 — 1999

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L | X | COMMUTE: | My Sentence | by Ann Whipple | [bird] | D’Ambrosio | Phoenix, Arizona | 1996

5 x 8 1/2 inches, blue end paper, [gray paper] [i–ii]: blank, [iii]: bus schedule attached to page, [iv]: blank, [v]: title, [vi]: copyright, [vii]: appreciation statement, [viii]: blank, 1–56: text [57–58]: blank, [59]: colophon, [60–62]: blank, blue endpaper.

Colophon:

This edition 

of Ann Whipple's

LX Commute: My Sentence 

was designed and typeset

in 12 pt. Palatino

by D'Ambrosio.

The edition

is 250 copies.

Binding: Signed image of bridge with multiple colors, blue cloth spine extends 1 1/4 inches around front and back of boards, 5 1/4 x 3/8 inch blue paper label on spine: LX COMMUTE: My Sentence \ Anne Whipple.

From A Memoir of Book Design:

I do not profess to be the arbiter of fine literature. However, when I discover something that deserves a wider audience, I try to do what I can to achieve that goal for it. So, when Ann Whipple sent me this erudite, witty, and wise account of her daily bus trips back and forth across the Bay from Richmond to San Francisco, I devised a plan: If I could produce an edition of at least two hundred and fifty copies, I could bring down the price of the work, thus reaching a larger audience and at the same time show a publisher that the work was indeed worthy of a commercial edition. My plan did not achieve its goal of commercial publication, but we had a lot of fun along the way. And Ann's work has been given a wider audience than if we had not tried. I am yet unsure why my plan failed to interest a commercial publisher, but it is just another humbling aspect of the niche where I have placed myself.

The entire text was set on the computer. Fortunately I had a type font that contained random-looking buildings. I placed rows of these at the ends of paragraphs, thus filling the empty spaces of the text block. The unrelieved rows of buildings are not unlike a bus ride through San Francisco, where looking out the window affords the same effect. I had taken a bus many times in that city so I do know the origin of my idea. The text was then printed on a colored paper, not white or cream, but a grayish blue, like the city's atmosphere when the fog is rolling in from the sea. 

Originally, the design plan was to have a local artist do a drawing of the bus route as a frontispiece. This would visually alert the reader as to what the book is about. When no drawing appeared as the time for publication neared, and my efforts to reach the artist became futile, I had the LX bus schedule reproduced—it is a folded piece of paper and has a route map on it that visually shows Ann's daily trip-and pasted it in just before the title page. [You may wonder why an artist would fix a date by which a work has to be issued. Isn't a work of art finished when it is finished no matter how long it takes? Not when one has to pay the rent and the telephone and the electricity. It is called "cash flow," and if one wants to support a studio, one needs constant funding.

Necessity keeps one disciplined and, probably most importantly, induces the pressure that makes the creative mind erupt.] | felt that this would probably be an even better frame of reference, or entry, into Ann's soliloquy. So, you see, many times what appears to be catastrophic really is, but out of the chaos a fresh idea can appear.

The signatures are sewn into a book block, and, because this work is a compendium of Ann's notebooks, the hard cover and spine are fitted much as a notebook cover is to its note pages, except not like a three-ring binder. In my workshops that I give I call this binding "Alternate Variations." The joints where the covers meet the spine are slightly different from those in standard books because they are composed of beveled cover boards laid side by side alongside a spine board that is also beveled on both of its long sides. The "V" configuration of two bevels side by side meet when the covers are closed. The extensions of the mull (or super) that is glued to the spine, and tapes to which the book block is sewn around, are adhered to the covers; then the endpapers are adhered to the inside of each cover. Before the final assembly, the covers were partially covered in a vibrant blue cloth-the front cover having the cloth only partially (quarter binding) to leave room for a special visual. Only the front cover has corner protectors to make it look even more like a notebook.

Even though two hundred and fifty copies is a gigantic edition for me (and a lot of work), I still wanted to do something special for this project, something that would require my signature to make not only Ann's fans buy the work, but also those who collect my work. And what better entry level for a collector than something relatively inexpensive?

Many years ago Susan Acker of the Feathered Serpent Press had brought the concept of printing paper plates made out of mat board to my attention. Susan is credited as impetus to Ann in completing this work. So it is fitting that paper plates seemed the best method to achieve a full color print on the front cover. I wanted the lively, vibrant blue of the Bay Bridge to clash with the roiling waters of the sea below-much as the mobile protection (the bus) rolling over it the bridge) conjoins the conflicted humanity of the city residing just beyond the double paned doors of the vehicle. The one problem I had was in remembering what the bridge looked like. I could find many renderings of the Golden Gate Bridge, but nowhere could I find a picture of the Bay Bridge. Carol Cunningham in Mill Valley, just north of the city, came to my rescue by sending me a picture she had found, and then the mighty Xs from which the spans are suspended returned to my memory. The colors were mixed from printing inks and the entire print was produced on the Vandercook proof press, plate by plate. There are seven separate printing plates and as many colors. The challenge is one of registration in trying to make each color fit exactly where it must on each and every print. And, because I create a texture on each plate (by stippling or running a brush stroke through the glue when it is in a tacky state), the sequence of when a certain color is applied matters. Some of the background colors can be seen under those on the surface. And a light color cannot be placed over a darker color except when blending of the two is required.

Some copies of this book have a companion clam-shell box. I gave some bookbinding workshops of "Alternate Variations" wherein the student bound a copy of LX, and then made a clam-shell box for it as a continuation of the workshop.

©Book Club of California 

From A Memoir of Book Design:

Since I was now living in the desert of the great Southwest (Arizona), I thought it appropriate that I do something regional. Initially, I thought to chronicle a Native American tale that had been handed down from generation to generation. I soon realized that was naive of me because the despoliation of the indigenous population has produced a generation expecting a large monetary reward for their exploitations. So l decided to fabricate a tale and pass it off as the real thing. I didn't expect anyone to care if it were true because I would keep it fanciful and totally unbelievable. In fact, in relating the story, I, the author, express my incredulity over and over again within the telling of the tale. I used this very same device in my first book, You Dress Funny (1970). Only in that instance I couched it in a separate voice that used poetry to look back on the text and comment on it satirically. Using it within the actual telling of the story seems to give it more validity. It also allows the reader to associate with the author's humanness by stressing the author's inner character.

I looked forward to the unraveling of this tale about a male Indian from Oaxaca meeting a female of the Sioux nation and together battling the evil forces of the gods, Quetzalcoatl and Coatlicue, in their quest to save the saguaro cactus from extinction. I am in awe of the beauty of the cactus flower—especially on the saguaro. It is a delicate, virgin white with a yellow center, and it blooms on the ugliest plant I have ever seen. Perhaps the contrast makes it more beautiful than it really is.ro The first big hurdle was finding the right typeface for the telling of this story. I found it in a computer version (or bastardization) of several faces called Antique No. 14. It is perfect; this book could not have been done without it. The face contains all the bold curves of Cooper Bold inte grated with the slouchy Hobo Bold, not to mention Parson's Bold thrown in for added fluidity. It evokes an Azte presence. This is what it looks like. Another problem arose with the pagination. For that I needed the help of Dan Mayer of Pyracantha Press at Arizona State University in Tempe. Since the entire text was computer generated, I needed a type-high magnesium plate made from the printout so I could print it letterpress. If I included the page numbers in the text block of each page, because the page numbers are away form the text block, it would entail extra metal to fill that empty area and thus generate an unnecessary expense. So I had a magnesium plate made of a separate sheet of page numbers. At ASU Dan used a Hammond Glider saw to cut apart the page numbers (mounted type high on wood) and I could then lock up each text block with its appropriate page number.

I truly had fun working on this book. Each page of type is laid out as a text block that is not a rectangle but another suggestive shape, and evokes a separate image when visually comprehended after a page is turned. All of the visual representational shapes are abstract and composed to give the essence of the story its Aztecan or Mayan heritage, not any directly associative object. They evoke decorative images taken from stone carvings in Central and South America. And almost every page is decorated with colored paper plate illustrations. I soon realized that a large edition of this book was simply too much work and would eventually be too costly for many clients. I thus chose to do a smaller edition the way it was originally planned and another edition that was a sort of stripped-down version. Both contain the same text, but the regular edition leaves out many costly inclusions.

The Indian on the title page is hand colored in both editions with calligraphers' watercolor tools. In the special edition, however, his tunic is covered in gold leaf (shown left). In the regular edition, it is gold ink that has almost no shine to it. He is copied from an image of another Indian found on a stone carving from a Pre-Columbian era, but I don't recall his left hand up shading his eyes in the original. I think | was taking artistic license here. The title is strung out with guidance as to how to pronounce the difficult words. You may notice a bird logo at the bottom of the page. Since I have relocated so much, I thought I would use it to indicate that the work was done in Phoenix. I seem to have since abandoned it.

I tore the bottom of the pages to give the book more of an antique aspect. Two separate templates were made from mat board and used for tearing so that when a tear on one page curves upward, the tear on the next page curves downward, thus showing both pages at one time and heightening the effect of the ripped edges. It was not necessary to dampen the paper to rip it. The paper is a commercial sheet called "Confetti" (tan in color) and its relative in white is used in the center of the book. The name comes from random color imperfections within it. The white sheet claims to be nonacid, but no such claim is made for the tan. The text in the first and last section of the book is printed in burgundy ink. Brown ink is used for the center section.

The first image that is incorporated in the text is a saguaro cactus. It is not printed from a paper plate. I made a line drawing and had a metal plate made that I could print from. The same is true for the double page spread where the gods, Quetzalcoatl and Coatlicue are depicted. In the special edition they are leafed with copper and silver, respectively. Both needed to be coated or they would have soon oxidized and lost their original luster. I had to perform this sequence twice. I always learn from my mistakes and then pass on the experience to others in my workshops. In my first attempt, | leafed the area of the image, and then printed the image in black ink over the leafing. I then coated the image with a clear fixative to prevent exposure to air from changing the composition. The liquid fixative, obviously with a mineral spirits base, washed the printed image away leaving a black smudged mess (I was using rubber-based ink to print the image). The only alternative was to leaf the image area first, seal it with a fixative, and then print over the fixative after it had dried. It worked! In the regular edition, paper plates are used to give a background color before the line drawing image is printed over it. The effect is quite nice when two or more background colors are integrated by printing separate paper plates that have been stippled with a brush while the surface glue is still tacky. The stippling allows tiny gaps within the areas of printed colors and consequently more than one color is displayed. The eye of the viewer may then subliminally put the two colors together to form the basic background color. The image of Cocijo (the rain God) on an ensuing page is leafed with aluminum (not the foil, but a very thinly pounded leaf —it makes a difference). This leaf needed no protection from oxidation and is not coated with a fixative.

The pop-up quetzal bird in the regular edition is printed in sections from a line drawing plate and then hand colored. Then the sections are cut out and assembled before insertion into the book. In the special edition, I adhered all of the colored feathers one by one with the aid of tweezers. Once again I needed the help of someone else to verify a fact for me: what an actual quetzal bird looks like. My San Francisco friend Bill Stec (you may remember him as the inspiration for the title of Daisies Never Tell found one in a computer encyclopedia-complete with the sound of its chirp. I have investigated the use of sound in one of my books and it would have been appropriate in this case, but even though the mechanism was being used in greeting cards at this time, the structure of this book would not have allowed it. Also, the sound chip does not last indefinitely which is another negative to the process. The colored feathers were not stripped off an actual quetzal bird, but from some other bird, and had been dyed. Because the water-based white glue dries quickly, I had to glue the feathers down in increments of small areas, much like a fresco artist would by dampening only a small working section of a wall or ceiling as the work progresses. 

A tan-colored paper is used for the front and back sections of the book. The center section is white. When the characters leave the desert area in the story, the paper changes to white. When they return to the desert at the end of the book, the color of the paper changes back accordingly. The text ink also changes when the paper changes to white. It changes from burgundy to brown. Brown ink has been used throughout for the page numbers and for incidental titling.

The dimensional white rose in the maiden's hair on page twenty-nine is an origami creation of my own design specifically because a rose is vital as a device to the plot of the story. She is facing her counterpart, Oaxaca, on the opposite page. And, yes, the flattened forehead of the male and the contrasting "hawk" nose of the female indicate their separate ancestry. She is Sioux, and he is Central American. The facial areas of each image carry an indication of a tactile surface because I stroked the bristles of a brush around the drying white glue of the paper plate in such a way as to give texture to the various parts of the human face. She is printed in four colors with four separate plates and he was completed in only one. This printing method even allows the flesh of the lips to be shown.

The images of two of the characters, Mr. Crow and Mr. Fox, are direct copies of petroglyphs Jan Petrucci in Flagstaff brought to my attention. They are printed from paper plates. They precede a song I wrote specifically for this book. The song is a device that is used to show the passage of time within the story by giving the reader something to do in the meantime. The image of Montezuma's Castle on page forty-one is printed from a line drawing done by me of the actual site, which is between Phoenix and Sedona. It is a National Monument and certainly worth a stop. When the paper changes back to a desert color, the abstract prints on pages forty-four through forty-seven are printed from torn heavy cloth that has been glued onto a wood base. The base is shimmed to bring the cloth up to printing height for the printing press. A sense of wild abandon was called for at this point in the story, and the frayed cloth printed in garish colors conveys the message.

The detail of the saguaro cactus at the end of the book is accomplished in three printings by three separate techniques. This was necessary to create the brilliant white cactus flower on dark brown paper. It is almost impossible to print letterpress opaque white in the deep color needed to convey the contrast between the cactus and its flower. First a background shade of green is printed using the paper-plate method. Then the exact position of the flowers is hand painted with white tempera and yellow tempera for the center of each flower. Lastly, a printing plate made from a line drawing is overprinted in a dark green. The problem of registration to get all three parts to fit is monumental.

The pop-up maiden-turned goddess at the end of the book is printed entirely from hand-cut paper printing plates and has genuine pheasant feathers in her headdress in both the special and in the regular editions. The feathers are so necessary to the visual image that I couldn't leave them out of the regular edition for fear of reducing its impact. I noticed when researching this project that human hair was often coiled into various shapes atop the head of an Indian. I merely elaborated on the concept and inserted feathers into it.

The special edition is bound in goat. Silver tea-chest paper is fixed to the back of strips of goat and twisted to create visual flashes when the light hits the curves at different angles. The highlights evoke the spines of a true saguaro cactus. The spiraled strips are sewn onto the cover boards to keep them stationary. The thread is the same color as the goat.

The regular edition is bound in suede cloth and mulberry paper, fashioned in what some have termed a Zapotec design. It came from my imagination after having researched the antiquities of the Central American culture. Because the suede cloth is extremely fuzzy on its surface, those areas, or sections-some very small where the squares are located-had to be partially removed so the paper could be adhered to the board below the cloth and not entirely to the surface of the cloth where it might tend to pull itself away too easily. 

Both editions have a spine with one side firmly attached to the front cover. The opposite side telescopes into a recess in the back cover. This creates less stress on the spine, and further enhances the joys of the pop-ups. This structure with a telescoping spine is a direct result of the U.S. Patent I received for an adjustable book cover for paperback books, only in this case the cover is attached to the book block. It took seventeen years after I received my patent for me to apply this construction to one of my works. As you will see, I will use it more often now that I have rediscovered its values. Because of its construction the endpapers are configured differently. The endpaper on the inside of the cover is wrapped around a board and fitted like a doublure. The opposite side of the endpaper, the side that touches the book block and becomes the flyleaf, is a half sheet with a fold in the vertical gutter side which is torn in the same manner as the bottom of each page.

©Book Club of California 

No image seen

From A Memoir of Book Design:

Jan Petrucci is a calligrapher living in Flagstaff, Arizona. You may remember that she was instrumental in finding the petroglyphs used in Oaxaca (1996). The public library in Flagstaff asked Jan to calligraph the names of donors to the library in a special book which would be updated as the list progressed. This meant that she would, from time to time, add names to a lengthening list. It was also intended to be put on display, so it had to be somewhat decorative and interesting. We consulted on the project and I created a hinged binding in a book-in-a-box structure, similar to Art Deco (1987). But instead of gluing the signatures after they were sewn, I made a nonadhesive Japanese four-needle binding. The threads traverse from signature to signature as in a codex binding, but in a manner which holds them securely together without the need for gluing. A series of knots within the last signature and a bow made of excess thread within the first signature provide any necessary tightening of the structure that may be necessary if the threads expand through usage. This structure allowed the book to open flat (because no glue means no impediment) and Jan could freely calligraph the names. It has worked out quite well. Not only does the book open flat, but the box boards provide a solid surface on which to write. It is difficult if not impossible to calligraph within the cramped pages of a glued binding. It should be noted here that a horizontally elongated structure only works for this particular situation. A vertically hinged binding leaves the pages on too great a slant for hand work. 

The hinged binding feature of this structure allowed the use of tree bark as a quarter binding material. Ordinarily this kind of dry and brittle substance would easily crack in the flexible joint of a standard codex binding. But because the material rotates around a smooth surface (the hinging rods) and does not bend, it consequently does not crack. However, to assure permanence in the binding, the areas of the tree bark that become the hinges are reinforced by backing them with fabric. The brown tree bark, which I believe is Mexican in origin and shaved as thinly as a piece of heavy paper, was slightly stained with an orange wash to more closely resemble the color of the bark of the ponderosa pines indigenous to the mountainous Flagstaff region of Arizona. And the cover of the book-in-a-box structure, because it is two four-ply boards thick, allowed for an opening in the top board which provides visual access to the next board down creating a depressed area in the front cover where Jan could paste some leaves from the area. The balance of the covers are covered in Momi green paper.

©Book Club of California 

Christus Apollo | Cantata | Celebrating | the Eighth Day | of Creation | and the Promise of | the Ninth | by Ray Bradbury | © 1998 Ray Bradbury.

4 3/4 x 6 1/2 x 2 5/8 inches, boxes bound together, front of first box ([1]): title, blue cloth with gold ingots, [in window on salmon paper]: Christus Apollo, [in window on salmon paper]: Cantata | Celebrating | the Eighth Day | of Creation | and the Promise of | the Ninth, [in window on salmon paper]: by Ray Bradbury | © 1998 Ray Bradbury, [2]: paper art with pearl, [3–19]: text with paper art with Ray Bradbury’s signature at the bottom of the[19], [20 (outside of back board)]: colophon.

Colophon:

This edition

of fifty copies

and seven artist proofs

is designed and produced

[signiture of D’Ambrosio in pencil]

by D'Ambrosio

for

The Gold Stein Press

Newport Beach, Califomia

This is copy No. [underlined number in pencil]

ISBN 0-938237-06-3

Blue cloth box 5 1/4 x 7 1/8 x 3 1/4 inches. title on 3 1/2 x 1 3/4 paper, [inside double box]: Christus | Apollo | by Ray Bradbury.

From A Memoir of Book Design:

Once again working for and with Ray Bradbury's words, I decided to take the book-of-boxes format from An Imperfect Solution (1997) to another level. This time the boxes would be larger and there would be more of them—nine total (not including the cover). And instead of found objects, I would utilize the marvelous, colored, handmade papers that were coming out of southern Asia. I would crumple them and use them the same way an artist would use paint on a brush in the style of the impressionists. If the viewer looks closely, he or she will see all the "dabs of paint." But, from a distance, all the colors blend into a distinct hue. The big difference between an artist's painting and a book is that looking at a book is a much closer physical experience than appreciating a painting that may be hanging on a wall. And so the tactile surface that emerges becomes yet another venue for the artist in which to communicate. Especially since many who, for example, look at a flat computer screen for hours need the relief of a surface that looks as if it could be felt and touched. Actually, it is a basic human trait to need to know that one's hands are capable of far more than merely typing words onto a screen. We need to know that our hands can create-if only a loaf of bread. Both experiences are important—and necessary. And it is another basic human trait to want to reach out and touch-especially that which looks like it has texture.

In this work Ray Bradbury uses the tale of the birth of Christ and spreads it around the universe, speculating that if it happened here, it could have happened out there in many different places and at many different times in the history of the solar system. The cover reflects this idea by using a soft pastel color of undulating forms four tiers deep within the dark blue ether of space, complete with floating asteroids of glittering pyrite (fool's gold) epoxied into niches created in the cover. [At some point between this book and the next, or while I was working on this book, I did a one-of-a-kind binding of a doll-house miniature book especially for Bromer Booksellers of Boston. The title is Fort Union in Miniature, by Robert M. Utley, Stagecoach Press, 1963, Santa Fe. The entire cover is pavéd in Peruvian pyrite (as opposed to the Mexican kind-one has a greater re fraction of light). The cover was first covered with black cloth and then the pyrite chips were epoxied to it. I seem to recall that the text of the book had some thing to do with mining in the old west. I do believe that l also made a clam-shell box in which to protect it. The pyrite was the same as that used on this book, Christus Apollo, and came from the same source. I began with the Peruvian pyrite for Christus Apollo, and then switched to the Mexican because the gem dealer that provided the stones had switched sources when I returned to buy more of the chips.] The dark blue cloth of the cover contains tiny sparkling facets. I have no idea how they were put into the weave of the cloth but that is why I chose it. The edges of the boxes are wrapped in dark blue paper. The contrast keeps the title on the front cover a glowing entity. It is presented in a clam-shell box of dark blue cloth over archival boards. The interior of the front of the box which faces the three dimensional stones on the cover has depressions within it so the protruding pyrite rests inside the depressions when the box is closed and does not scratch the surface of the paper lining the interior of the box.

In taking the book of boxes into a larger format from that of a miniature book I was not sure what adjustments would have to be made to make it structurally sound. It turned out that the only difference was that greater care had to be taken when assembling the basic structure so it would not tear itself apart before all of the joints were fixed into place. And yet again each box joint needed a double hinge-one of cloth in the spine area and one of paper inside where the boxes meet and bend. Without that inner joint (even one made of less-than-durable paper as opposed to cloth the individual boxes would actually peel themselves away from the spine of the book as each one is opened. So, great care is necessary to keep the exterior structure together until the inner joints can be fabricated. Actually, this is still not a full-size book. It is slightly smaller, but not a miniature. I felt that the author's communication was more personal in a size that would fit nicely in the cradle of the human hands. I could have hinged the boxes as a hinged binding (with rods), but I felt a flat spine would be more attractive than the tubes that run up and down a spine of a hinged binding. But, that would come later when I create a mountain using the book of boxes structure.

Because each box has depth, collages (using various materials) can be constructed around the author's words. It could also be done as a pure artist's book, using visual communication only. Interlocking visual features can also be obtained whereby three dimensional objects on one side of a box mesh perfectly into negatively placed objects on the other side of the box when in a closed position. The creative possibilities are enormous. This is indicative on the cover. The title on the front cover is depressed on three separate levels below the face of the cover board (four tiers of four-ply boards). The depression created within the flat exterior of the front cover has to have somewhere to go. This creates a rise (or bulge) on the other side of the cover which is utilized by covering with crumpled colored papers (and a pearl because it is a round orb like that of a planetary object) for a visual effect. The bulge inside the front cover nestles into a space within the depth of the first box. Care is taken to allow for space by not placing any collages in those areas of the first box and allowing the area to be inhabited only by the presence of the bulge. That unused space in this case is the space where the author's words can be read. Most of the visual crumpled colored paper artwork in this work is as abstract as any swirling solar system within any galaxy of which I have seen photos.

The big problem I ran into was the printing of the text onto the handmade Asian paper. While the color of the paper is spectacular, the surface texture is not conducive to fine printing. The fibers are very loose and tend to pull away, taking the letters of the printed words with them. The answer was to use a fixative wherever necessary, but in moderation so as not to destroy the surface look of the paper. The inclusions within the paper were another matter that had to be dealt with in a separate and frustrating fashion.

The box design that am most pleased with is the one where a giant nebula of gases arises in deep red and pastel pink crumpled paper when that section is opened. Because of the degree of difficulty of trying to get crumpled paper to pop-up on command, I wondered how I was going to repeat the fabrication of this fifty-seven times (the size of the edition). But it turned out to be an easy and pleasurable task. However, adhering the red paper with water-based glue was no easy task. It was extremely thin and, yes, it could have been backed with another sheet, but for some reason I didn't do that and struggled with it each time I had to glue it down into the depth of its box.

Some of the materials used within the other boxes include white tissue paper; tiny simulated pearls; mirrored mylar, and aluminum foil. I hesitated to use household aluminum foil because it was not leaf foil, but its effect when crumpled was so correct for where it is that I went ahead with it. I am sure it is looked upon with a grin by those who see it because it is so recognizable-but so are the stars in the night sky. This is also where I began to carve four-ply white paperboard into recognizable objects and then paint them with acrylic colors to not only seal the surface but also so they would be more recognizable for what they represent, in this case the head of a baby Jesus.

The problem of my shaking hands was not major while I was working on this book. Perhaps it is because this book is larger than a miniature.

But since I have already expanded beyond this point in reality, I can look back and say that the manifestation in miniature was a harbinger of what was going to happen in full size as the years progressed-not to mention the problem of remembering how to successfully complete a binding technique, one which would have to be done over and over for an edition binding and one that, if forgotten, would cause me much frustration. It is difficult to document on paper a binding operation.

©Book Club of California