I commented in the introduction on how my first book was supposed to have been a musical play, and how I used the book of the play as the text of the book, the lyrics as poetry, and the actual music as graphic artwork because they both convey emotion without using words. The reason it did not become a musical play was that I was disenchanted with the music that | was writing. My music was non-melodic and more of a chant. Little did I know that much of the music at that time being
Written for the New York stage was heading in that direction.
The text is written simply as if penned by an unworldly person. Why?
So there would be a contrast, or conflict, between the author of the text and the writer of the poetry. In this manner there are two separate voices speaking, even though they emit from the same author. The poetic voice is sober and inserted in various parts of the story much the same as musical numbers are inserted into the fabric of a musical play: they entertain while still advancing the story. The poetry looks back on the text thus far and comments satirically on the inept characters within the story and the inanity of the author himself. The graphics reflect and heighten the emotional conflict between the two views.
When I write, I create the characters and the situation, then sit back and report to the reader how they are acting and what they are doing. Many times I am aghast at what my characters do; but if they do it, l report it. I don't believe I have ever censored a character, no matter how outrageous or abominable that character became.
In You Dress "Funny," begun in 1969 and completed in 1970, I wanted to create a presentation which I thought would interest my nephews and nieces when they grew up, not because they were my family members, but because they represented a generation just beyond mine, and I had something to say to them. That meant that I had to contemplate where their young minds were headed. I was thirty-five years old at the time, and, as I have previously mentioned, I come from a family of six children, so nieces and nephews abound. I also wanted the children, when they became adults, to be able to understand the concept of hypocrisy in human relationships. And I wanted to do it in a manner that would be easily assimilated so the reader would not be deterred by material that was too deep and required too much thought. I wanted my reader to be entertained. Isn't that what a musical play does? I did not want my readers to be aware that I was planting seeds in their minds. Sneaky? The seeds could only mature when associated with a situation outside the realm of the book. Hence, the flowering of an idea may occur only when the subject is ready and willing, much like hypnosis (which precedes, and motivates, the end of this story).
After the next set of graphics, all of the text is printed in black. Does that mean the harassers and the protagonists are now one and the same? The preceding graphic implies that pieces fitted into a round space turn out to be square. A few pages onward I even give the reader a full page of silver paper in which to see his or her own image.
This action asserts that we are all capable of condescension through harassment by using a mask of criticism. We just need to be aware of it
So we can recognize our faults when necessary.
I have said that when I write, I create the characters and then report to the reader what they do, and that sometimes I am appalled by what a character may do, but I report it anyway. In this case one of the characters, DaviT (spelled with a capital "T" to differentiate him from the other main character whose name is David), in frustration urinates on the other characters. The paper for the poetry of that section is stained with what appears to be urine. There are some who actually thought I ejaculated on each page. Even though I was much younger then, I don't think I could have provided enough for the entire edition. I first tried tomato juice sprinkled from a bottle held aloft. It looked too much like blood. But orange juice worked perfectly. The visual is meant to shock and enhance the poetry which is overtly combative; the captive characters have begun to fight among themselves. It invites the bumpkin-like protagonists into the harsh ring of reality which in this case means growing up.
If the reader has not gotten the hypocritical message yet, I force it with a poem equating love with greed, and then provide the reader a clear unadulterated page of gold foil in which to once again see his or her own image. This may seem like condescension, but it is not. It is a process of allowing the reader the introspection necessary to integrate him or her with the plot. The paper then switches from muddy newsprint to pure white, and the method of storytelling changes from prose to printed stage play format. I am attempting to convey to the reader that now that he or she has looked within to discover his or her own individual attitude, the following is a contrived contrast to that attitude and to accept it merely as artifice. I imply that the reader, even though filled with human foibles, has more depth of character than the characters in the story. This is followed by singsong poetic doggerel to further show the silliness of the human comedy expressed by the
shenanigans of the characters.
By now the reader should be feeling far superior to the characters
even if there exists a sense of kinship to their ineptness. However, the diversion must come to an end as with any real life situation. To bring the reader back to the seriousness at hand, the next portion of the text is preceded by an erotic collage.
A coiled cord is wound around itself in the form of a person with the frayed end of the cord intruding into an abstract vagina and spitting red seeds within its boundaries. Sharp, pointed, weapon-like metal staples are included to direct the reader into a mood of caution. All of the actual objects were glued to the top of a board and coated for stability. The face of the collage had to be hand colored before each print was pulled.
To further alert the reader, the consequences of what may happen by being too cavalier within a grave situation are enhanced within the next few pages of text. This is followed by a poem of random upper and lower case letters within a graphic grid.
The grid blots out some of the words so the reader must work to fill in the suspect areas. This is simply done by mental substitution, as enough of the letters for each word are provided. And, if the reader reads only the lower case letters, another message surfaces. But the reader must be able to comprehend the first message in order to be equipped with all the letters to learn the hidden one.c
As the last part of the story is told, an eyeball looks at the reader while the reader is reading. It is basic human nature to be uncomfortable when being stared at. The reader can't get away from the eyeball and doesn't know why it is there. It reappears on succeeding pages. It is meant to make a reader uneasy, and to place him or her most assuredly in an awkward situation. The object at this point, through mental manipulation, is to clear the reader's mind for what is to come. And then, when the reader is sufficiently unsure of the situation, there follows a series that is designed to hypnotize the reader. However, as an author, I respect my reader and I stop just short of actually making the reader go under hypnosis. How dol know?
Many years ago when I was in the U.S. Navy on the island of Guam, I, as a radio operator, had to stand an eight-hour watch while wearing headphones and listening to a coded message. The setup was such that we would be on all night, then go back to our hut and sleep all day, get up and then stand an evening watch. And then go to sleep and stand a day watch. This was a constant rotation and I found it difficult to go to sleep at times I was not accustomed to-even if I had been up all night. So, in order to get some rest, I stumbled into self hypnosis just to get myself to sleep. It truly was wonderful. It was like an out-of-body experience. I could fly above the tree tops; everything was in color and, in general, quite utopian. It was as real as actual life and I had to pinch myself to make sure I was truly asleep. If I didn't feel the pinch, then I knew that I was asleep and I started working to wake myself. It may sound strange that I was experiencing in one space of time two sides of an unusual dichotomy, but that's the way it worked for me. The only problem was that it was painful when I had to pull myself out of the stupor. It was necessary to raise the fluid in my spine and get it to my brain. Now, you ask, how did he learn that? And, how did he know how to use it to extricate himself from his dream world? As in the methods I use to create the books that I am about to describe, I keep experimenting with different processes until I find one that works and gives the desired result. I had a life-threatening illness when I was a teenager, which required a number of spinal taps. I know what it feels like to have a needle inserted into the base of my spine and have the fluid withdrawn. There is a chattering of the spine as if all the discs are vibrating in unison. And it is painful. But the real reason I don't practice astral travel anymore is that when I began all those wonderful out-of-body experiences, I experienced them in silence. Then, as I progressed and someone spoke to me and I heard their voice, I knew that the situation was becoming so utopian that if I stayed I would enjoy it so much that I would never want to leave. I feared that I would be self-trapped in a coma.
All of the serigraphic artwork in this book consists of shapes rendered in flat one-toned color. The word serigraphy, by my dictionary's definition, means an art print done using the silkscreen process, but with no mechanical assistance. All of the plates must be made by hand methods. No photo processes are allowed. And when I use a medium, l try to use that medium in its purest form so the viewer will have no doubt what method was used to render the image. In the future (after this first book) I will use a split font (more than one color at a time with colors blended at a given point) but that also is endemic to this medium and in no way deters from its essence. I see no valid reason to carve a piece of boxwood so the final print looks as if it were made from an engraving. The medium is part and parcel of the message. An artist chooses a medium for a reason other than convenience. If an artist carves a printing plate from wood, we should see some wood grain so we know the genesis of the piece.
Most of the serigraphic shapes in this book are forms that are not meant to be illustrative and readily distinguishable. They have been deliberately cloaked to allow the reader to mentally conjure the true form they suggest. Many of them border on the erotic if one wishes to delve into their meaning. But one needn't go that far to enjoy them and to glean meaning from them. This book takes only about twenty minutes to read. Consequently, one can pick it up at various times in one's life and enjoy it differently, depending upon one's mood at that given time. It is not unlike sitting on a bench in an art museum and contemplating the painting directly ahead, perceiving something different at each viewing.
The image of the character Naomi's face utilizes varnish in some areas to highlight those areas which would normally shine on a human face: cheeks, tip of nose, chin. I did a painting similar to this print and presented it to one of the first influences on my artistic career, Alice Adams, curator of a Chicago art gallery. The painting was of another influence in my life—another woman whose name was Pat (but I don't remember her last name). Alice, when the gallery owner chose not to handle my books as art, wisely advised me to go off by myself and not be influenced by my peers. I did so for some years and did not emerge until I moved to Southern California in 1979.
Another graphic that is helpful to explain is my "hybrid rose." The viewer does not know it is a rose until it is explained by the haiku-like poetry below the image. It conveys a cold and machinelike object, supporting the notion that beauty is evanescent, and that even a glorious rose will wither and die. I used variations of one color to achieve an illusion of depth. The furthest color is pink graduating forward to dark red, and one step further to an even deeper red achieved by shiny red enamel over flat ink. I would later refine this technique in Zarathustra (1973), using water-based inks along with oil-based inks within the same imagery.
The ending of this book is simply the requirement that the reader lift a page of clear acetate which has a white opaque orb serigraphed on it. Like lifting a rock in a stream, beneath that on the next page small type declares that within the reader lie the answers to all the riddles of space and humanity: "The universe is round, my friend. So it's no use trying to find the end; seek that which is within." This creative seed was planted by a fine female influence in my life, my grade school teacher, Mrs. Christ (pronounced Krist) and the verse she quoted in my graduation book about finding "books in the running brooks..”
This was my first book, and I gave absolutely no thought to the binding or structure of its exterior. Everything I communicated was between two covers. The structure was not important—or at least at that time it was not. After all, it was a book, and I felt that it should look like a book-the art was inside. So, I sewed the loose pages with a sewing machine in a manner similar to what I would later learn was termed a Japanese stab binding. They were not in folio (folded) fashion so they had to be somehow held together. I then attached boards covered in white paper with glue. | actually sold some copies bound that way before I realized how embarrassing the binding was. I was able to gather up some of the copies and had them commercially rebound in silver cloth, then returned them to their owners. This explains why the pages are so poorly trimmed in relation to the margins. The commercial bindery retrimmed them after tearing apart the original binding on the assumption that I would want all the fore edges to be even. So all of the margins suffer—all except for the few that got away. The bindery had no concept that an erose fore edge would make hooking the forefinger on the edge of a page that was protruding considerably easier when turning a page.
From A Memoir of Book Design © Book Club of California