Richard J. Hoffman (1912-1989) was a fine press printer and taught print and design at California State University, Los Angeles. His interests in typography, miniature books and the alphabet are represented by two works in the Books On Books Collection: “Don’t Nobody Care about Zeds” (1987) and Otto Ege’s The Story of the Alphabet (1988).
Both books scratch the collection’s “alphabet itch”. The first provides the added satisfaction of complementing the children’s books that champion the alphabet’s last letter: Jon Agee’s Z Goes Home (2006), Alethea Kontis & Bob Kolar’s AlphaOops: The Day Z Went First (2012), Sean Lamb & Mike Perry’s Z Goes First (2018) and Lou Kuenzler & Julia Woolf’s Not Yet Zebra! . The second adds an alphabet history to the miniature abecedaries as well as a more than usually intricate design.
Winter (2019) Ianna Andréadis Softbound with a waxed thread loop. H210 x W150 mm. 48 pages. Acquired from Happy Babies, 30 July 2023. Photos: Books On Books Collection. Displayed with artist’s permission.
The language of the book is one we learn well before we learn to read. It has many rules and parts. One part is the single page, and one of its rules is to turn it. Another of its rules is that the page behind may affect the page before. Another part of book language is the double-page spread. One of its rules is that facing pages may affect one another and that the space between them might disappear. As with any native language, we absorb its rules and parts and use them without thinking about them. Ianna Andréadis’ Winter revels in the language of the book and invites us to page through a winter wood and confusing thicket to begin learning again what we absorbed so long ago.
Like our earliest children’s books, Winter‘s only word is its title. Inviting touch, its front cover reproduces the main image of the title page but with debossing, and the book paper that follows is heavy and translucent.
With a turn of the title page, the bird is behind us, and the branches and trunks obscured by the title page’s “winter fog” loom large in black with the woods beyond appearing through the fog continued with the translucent paper.
As we move further into the woods, we look down on a bush or small tree weighted with snow whose trunk and branches sink into the snow beneath. Having passed it, we find a stand of four saplings and the one furthest from us also sunk in snow.
But now look up. The tangle of black branches and the winter fog barely hide the broken limbs of the tree just behind.
Several more pages of thicket and fog come before we reach the center of the book. There the imposition imposes its mechanics. The two facing pages both bear black ink, and the viewer may wonder whether these are birchtree trunks or black trunks with footsteps and branches or clumps of tree fall in the snow-covered ground between them.
Whatever that view is, the shift in inking according to the imposition envelops us in a winter fog on the following double-page spread.
Andréadis and her imposition, however, will lead us out of the fog and thicket, and the “lightening sky” over the next several pages encourages us to look up and find another bird perched above.
After several more pages and perhaps too tired to keep looking up, our eyes turn back to the tree trunks and branches sunk in snow, until at the end, we can finally look back up, turn around and see the clear fork of a trunk behind which the wood has disappeared again in winter fog.
And if at the end, prompted by the feel of the back cover and perhaps childhood memories of first books to press the covers flat, we’ll find we have come full circle. The next-to-last page’s forking tree trunk now appears debossed on the back cover matched to its other half and the bird on the front cover. Let’s read it again!
Andréadis’ Winter is now scarce, but through the link behind the title, you might be able to locate an institution with it near you. To enjoy more of the artist’s work, several of her illustrations of others’ books are available in libraries and the used-book market. One such book is Le papillon et la lumière by Patrick Chamoiseau, which deserves publication in translation not only for its charming story but for greater access to Andréadis’ artwork.
For another means of re-experiencing the first encounter with the language of the book, try Bruno Munari’s I Prelibri, first published in 1980 and still available in a second edition from Corraini.
Further Reading
Andréadis, Ianna. 2019. Winter. Tokyo: One Stroke.
Out of Breath (2019) Jacobus Oudyn Hardboard slipcase covered in textured paper, housing stab-bound book with waxed paper cover, attached page lifter. Slipcase: Box: H345 x W232 x D50 mm. Book: H300 x W202 mm. 34 pages. Unique. Also acquired, Artist’s Proof: H205 x W165 mm. Both from the artist, 1 June 2023. Photos: Books On Books Collection. Displayed with permission of the artist.
In turning the thirty-four pages of this artist’s book, your fingers, eyes and ears pick up a rhythm: a labored inward and crackling outward breath, a catching and losing grasp of air, an alternating wet, dry, wet wheezing. The effects come from the material (sounds and touch that the slippery, thin and delicate rice paper gives against the wrinkled carbon paper that continues to shed its carbon), from the technique of alternating positive and negative prints, and from the ticklish action of picking up the pages with the card lifter. It takes a long time to turn these pages.
The artist’s note accompanying the work describes it as being “for all our friends and relations who have been victims of Mesothelioma and other ‘industrial’ lung disorders like Black Lung”. Indeed, the double-page spreads’ bilateral symmetry and their blackness, grayness and whiteness recall chest X-rays. The process by which Oudyn achieves this is worth remarking.
In correspondence with Books On Books, the artist notes that the process emerged from much chance and circumstance. It began with rubbings made against charred trees after a bush fire near Tewantin in 2018. Those results prompted childhood memories of the kind of carbon paper he knew as a child. Wanting to explore its use, he found that it was no longer stocked by stationers in the region, no doubt because computers, printers and photocopiers had made it superfluous. An online search yielded some boxes of very fine thin A4 sheets of bluish black and purer black carbon paper from China. Around the same time, he had been experimenting with momigami using various papers, mainly rice paper and mulberry but also cartridge and craft paper. While making books with the carbon paper and momigami results, he had reason to iron some sheets flatter, which yielded a variety of carbon prints on the rice paper. Different temperatures, durations and pressures as well as other papers yielded a range of prints on paper but also beautiful positives on the fine carbon paper itself. Experimenting with different orders in the steps, rewrinkling before or after ironing, and further grading and sorting the papers, Oudyn gained some control over the finished result. Then came the ideas that led to Out of Breath and the following works.
Opening Dark Windows (2020)
Opening Dark Windows (2020) Jacobus Oudyn Slipcase. Japanese stab binding, endpapers and a small card page lifter attached by thread. H220 x W300 mm. 20 folios. Unique. Acquired from the artist, 1 June 2023. Photos: Books On Books Collection. Displayed with permission of the artist.
Opening Dark Windows has a variety of tactile sensations similar to those in Out of Breath. Both have covers generating an unusual sensation — a waxen flexible texture in Out of Breath, a dry rough stiff texture in Opening Dark Windows. Both alternate different weights of papers. Of the 20 folios in Opening Dark Windows, 10 are carbon tissue paper, 10 are cotton Ingres (108 gsm), and all show the experimentation described above. This work, however, also displays Oudyn’s characteristic use of multiple media and collage — black acrylic paint, white wax crayon, pva glue, graphite, inks and found text. Oudyn also adds further tactility with torn and cut flaps with their pull tabs. All of this is in service to an idea: an exploration of fading memory and the retrieval of material long thought forgotten, both of which are made interactive by the flaps (the physical “dark windows”) in the carbon tissue that reveal the collaged text, signs, fractions and drawings sometimes glued to or made on the underside of the tissue, sometimes on the underlying sheet of Ingres.
Texture and weight alternating from one layer to the next, textures juxtaposed as flaps peel away, truncated text expanding and changing as the page turns — this is mindscape as surreal scrapbook.
Flattening the Curve (2021)
Flattening the Curve (2021) Jacobus Oudyn Slipcase. Japanese stab binding.H210 x W300 mm. 24 folios. Unique. Acquired from the artist, 1 June 2023. Photos: Books On Books Collection. Displayed with permission of the artist.
Like Out of Breath and Opening Dark Windows, Flattening the Curve (2021) uses the “swag” of black papers Oudyn had created. Although it is also a work of multiple media — the papers themselves, graphite and inks — the focus of Flattening the Curve rests more on a sort of narrative or documentary line showing how language changed as the Covid 19 pandemic progressed. A specific Covid language evolved as daily progress reports from political leaders and medical experts and interviews in the media became the focus of everyday life for two years. As the words on the page change reflecting their use for the purpose of authority and confidence, the seemingly fixed geographical boundaries in red break and shift. Even the height and width of the leaves shift.
M.L.A. (2021)
M.L.A.(2021) Jacobus Oudyn Softcover pamphlet-stitched, textured flyleaves. 18 sheets Chinese carbon paper, 18 sheets Chinese rice paper. Found text. H125 x W110 mm. 36 pages. Unique. Acquired from the artist, 1 June 2023. Photos: Books On Books Collection. Displayed with permission of the artist.
Obviously from the works above, Oudyn deploys his set of tools, techniques and material imaginatively, but for this satiric portrait of a flip-flopping Member of the Legislative Assembly in Australia, the subject himself seems to have selected unwittingly the overprinting from carbon paper onto rice paper. Every turn presents a reversal.
Even beneath the reversals, his previous faces to the world accumulate and peek out slightly askew from “today’s” view until at the end you can hardly tell what view would be next. To which the M.L.A would reply, does reply, “Yes, why not?”
Points of Reference (2022)
Points of Reference (2022) Jacobus Oudyn Box covered in illustrated paper. Three small books, each with five double-sided panels. Box: 115 x115 mm. Each book, closed: 103 x 103 mm; open: H260 x W 210 mm. 10 panels each book. Unique. Acquired from the artist, 1 June 2023. Photos: Books On Books Collection. Displayed with artist’s permission.
Points of Reference recalls Oudyn’s earlier ‘16 Century Map‘ (2012) where the artist juxtaposed an old European map (showing Mesopotamia and the Euphrates, the Northern hemisphere’s cradle of civilization) with an Australian map of the Kakadu National Park, which covers ancient locations that evoke the concept of Tjukurpa, by which Australia’s Anangu refer to the creation period. The later work raises the earlier one’s implicit critique of European colonialism — “if we map it, we own it” — to a more all-embracing level.
A paper-covered box holds three small identically shaped, double-sided folding panel books. Each has two square panels and three triangular panels. When fully opened, each book takes the shape of a directional arrow.
One book has an image from Tycho Brahe’s Stella Nova 1572 on one side and, on the other side, an imaginary space map of commercial and abandoned space junk around the Southern Cross.
The second book has a planimetric map on one side and, on the other, a map of the same area entirely painted over predominantly in a muted orange and yellow, with some brown and gray, and black-ink silhouettes of birds in flight and native Australian markings in white and black.
Similar to the second, the third book has a partially obscured cadastral map with plots of property on one side and, on the other side, a map of the same area entirely painted over in gray, with some rose accents and, again, black-ink silhouettes of birds in flight and native Australian markings in white and black.
The triangular panels in the second and third books are numbered 1 to 3 on both sides, signifying that the same areas are mapped on both sides. Also, both of these books have faint collagraphed snippets of found text on the overpainted sides. Uniquely, the third book has gameboard-like text on both sides. On one side, the text reads,”ONE WAY”, “WHERE ARE YOU?” and “WE WERE HERE”; on the other, it reads “ONE-WAY”, “ARE YOU HERE?”, “WE WERE HERE”, “ONE WAY – GO BACK” and “- GO BACK”.
Along with their punning on the work’s title, the pointer-shaped open books’ re-arrangeability and their gameboard text suggest a playful invitation to consider how we imagine, mythologize, redefine and map what seems to us to be empty space challenging our place in it.
Facing Again (2023)
Facing Again (2023) Jacobus Oudyn Card cover, found-text title pasted on front cover. Pamphlet stitched, 10 portraits made of found text, collage and mixed media. H102 x W147 mm. Unique. Acquired from the artist, 1 June 2023. Photos: Books On Books Collection. Displayed with permission of the artist.
Something of a cross between the satire of R. Crumb and Spitting Image and the rawness of Lucien Freud and Francis Bacon, each of these ten portraits fills its half of an 80 gsm gray pastel paper folio. So, naturally, they loom larger than life in the near-miniature trim size. While the portrait in M.L.A. has a real-life subject of its satire, these faces in Facing Again are fictional, more general and reflective of “mental” issues afflicting 21st century first world societies. Common to most of the portraits, fractions appear as content in the mouths or in the minds of the portrayed — or almost as if they are brushstrokes conveying a characteristic. They imply a sense of psychological, social and political fractionation and division that have featured increasingly in the first three decades of the 21st century.
In the first portrait, above, a set of fractions seems to issue from the character’s forehead like a thought bubble, but this bubble is shard-shaped and could just as well be impaling the character’s forehead with fractions. In either case, they have to do with what “she knew” — the “what she knows” that inflames her face and contorts her nose and mouth into a snarl.
Although not a fraction, the eighth portrait’s reference below to the 9/11 event of 2001 and the text — “really got to be diligent” — evoke an identifiable instance of fractionation and division. This character is more physically distorted than the first. Its jaw dislocated, its teeth inverted, its eyes askew, the face looks submerged in a brown pool of 9/11 aftermath. Divisions on a global scale begat violence, which reinforced fear and division, which begat more violence and fear. If it were only that simple.
These portraits are images of confusion and uncertainty until the last, who seems able to weep only with one eye for “something else”.
A Bookbinder’s ABC (2003) Christopher Hicks, Leaning Chimney Press Editions Soft cover (buff card, illustrated paper jacket glued to spine, sewn block). H200 x W150 mm. 34 pages. Edition of 75. Acquired from Barter Books, 18 October 2023. Photos: Books On Books Collection.
Although Glaister’s Encyclopedia of the Book is the canonical dictionary for book terminology, A Bookbinder’s ABC provides 26 humorous visual reminders.
An Arabian stallion in a decorative onsie for recalling the description of fleurons and other devices derived from Islamic patterns.
What else would a binder call a children’s orchestra?
A fox flummoxed by a maze is certainly “foxed”. This one is also likely puzzled by the holes carried over from “Wormholes” on the previous page. Barking dogs springing from a book cover might be a helpful mnemonic for the name of the wide soft edges or flaps for Bible covers devised by the 19th century London bookseller Yapp.
The work’s own binding has simple but interesting features. The front and back covers in buff card are glued to the first and last sewn gatherings, respectively, and the sewn gatherings are glued in between and sewn together. The blue paper jacket’s spine is glued to the spines of the gatherings and its fore edges fold over the fore edges of the buff card. Curious but not as self referential as the features of two nearby birds of a feather from Andrew Morrison’s Two Wood Press.
Detail of uncut top edges and gluing of gatherings and spine.
From Morrison’s Provenance (2018), showing an actual wire-stitched gathering and then an illustration of the mechanism; from Morrison’s Two Wood Press A-Z (2003), showing showing an embossed page illustrating E for Embossing. Photos: Books On Books Collection.
But what would a self-referential binding for A Bookbinder’s ABC look like — especially one that might carry on the punnery of the contents? Presumably because they are closer to the words, entries in letterpress abecedaries such as Morrison’s Two Wood Press A-Z (2003) and Kevin M. Steele’s The Movable Book of Letterforms (2009) have an easier time of the visually self-referential.
From Steele’s A Movable Book of Letterforms, showing the anatomical term for the red areas of the L & R (a leg lift?); from Morrison’s Two Wood Press A-Z, showing x’s definition of its height.
Closer still to the words are the typographical punsters such as Marie Dern and William Caslon’s Typographic ABC (1991), Nicolas McDowall and A Bodoni Charade (1995) or Sharon Werner & Sharon Forss and Alphabeasties and Other Amazing Types (2009).
From Dern’s William Caslon’s Typographic ABC, McDowall’s A Bodoni Charade and Werner & Forss’ Alphabeasties and Other Amazing Types.
Perhaps Pat Sweet’s miniature The Book Book (2010) comes closest on self-referentiality in a work about binding. For the puns, we will have to wait for another bookbinder to take a stab at it.
Patterned Alphabet (2013) Annie Cicale Sewn, casebound leporello. H104 x W104 mm. 34 panels. Edition of 41, of which this 26. Artist 4 July 2023. Photos: Books On Books Collection.
Patterned Alphabet could well have been entitled Textured Alphabet. The number of different textures almost equals that of the patterns. It is the textures’ interaction with each other as well as with the patterns that particularly appeals. The cover, appropriately made of Cave Paper’s Alphabet Heavyweight, initiates the interplay. While the calligraphic style and patterned background of the copperplate engravings of A and Z do not vary, the textures around and beneath them multiply, mirror and contrast. The surface of the Cave Alphabet paper echoes that of the copperplate’s stippled background. The softness of the thick cotton string, binding the cover, contrasts with the roughness of the paper.
Before coming to the leporello, hand and eye are slowed by another texture. Like the self-referential Cave Alphabet paper cover, the flyleaf refers to itself with a leaf print. It contrasts with the cover, however, in its lightness, surface and color. While that dance of contrasting textures goes on, the flyleaf’s embedded image strikes up its own contrast with the relief technique and letters on the covers.
When the leporello comes on stage, the print pattern and paper texture exchange the roles they played at the beginning. Before, the print pattern held the stillpoint around which the cover, binding string, flyleaf and copperplate danced. Now, the smoother laid texture of the Ingres d’Arches paper becomes the stillpoint. Its weight, surface and color — very different from those of the cover and flyleaf — serve that constancy well. For each letterform (including the ampersand), different patterns make up the anatomy and background, which adds quite a number of dancers around the stillpoint.
The printing technique for all those dancers — Resingrave engraving — contributes to their variety of pattern. Invented by Richard Woodman, Resingrave is a synthetic substitute for boxwood. It consists of a thin layer of resin atop a block of MDF wood and, since the ’90s, was famously used by Barry Moser (e.g., the Pennyroyal Caxton Bible). More than lino or blocks for woodcuts, it allows for the thin lines necessary for close and fine patterns. Standing the leporello against the light offers a chance to enjoy the interaction of the “texture” of those patterns with the texture of the paper.
Like Moser, Cicale has engaged with watercolors as well as prints and embraced the abstract as well as the figurative, as can be seen in the next work.
Detritus No. 30 (2020)
Detritus No. 30: Floppy Alphabet, Brush Alphabet (2020) Annie Cicale Modified leporello, pasted to paper cover, bellyband closure. Closed: H95 x W80; Open: W750. 12 panels. Acquired from the artist, 4 July 2023. Photos: Books On Books Collection.
Here, Cicale has compiled and collaged cast off letters, ornaments and marks from completed works to create a modified double-sided leporello bound in painted and inked watercolor paper, held together with a belly band. The leporello’s two modifications are its variation in panel size and the cut across the mountain folds. Except for a reversal on the first panel, the upper row’s panels bear square cutouts, and the lower row’s bear circular ones. Although constant in shape and distribution, the recurrent squares and circles vary in their color and size, highlighting the variation in size of panels. With their constant black and gray, the ink-brushed letters A-H contrast with the variance of color and size of the circles and squares.
On the reverse side of the leporello, the circles and squares exchange position. They are, in fact, circular and square patches, black and white on this side of the leporello and colored on the other, supplying the color to the other side’s square and circular cutouts. The circular patches are generally consistent in size, as are the square patches, which contrasts with the varied sizes of the cutouts on the other side. The reverse side of the leporello is more muted, and with its black and white patches, it seems more abstract, but is it? Letters themselves are abstract, which may the tongue-in-cheek point of the underlying patches.
Experiment No. 2 (2023)
Experiment No. 2: Step by Step (2023) Annie Cicale Pamphlet stitch book. H185 x W 130 mm. Seven folios of varying trim size and papers, one set of four folios gathered and sewn to upper fold of spine, one set of three folios gathered and sewn to lower fold of spine. Acquired from the artist, 4 July 2023. Photos: Books On Books Collection. Displayed with permission.
Cicale continues her dance of contrasts and similarities with Experiment No. 2 (2023). Here are some of her comments on process and material:
Teaching watercolor for many years has allowed me to try many exuberant techniques, using good rag paper and a wide gamut of colors, shapes and techniques.… An alphabet written on another sheet of paper has been collaged on these pages. I’ve used walnut ink, watercolor and iridescent pigments, which create an interesting series of contrasts as you move through the book.
Another experimental aspect of this pamphlet stitch book is the gathering of the folios into two separate gathers and the variation in size of the folios. The exterior image of the spine above and its interior below show the attachment of the gatherings to the right and left folds of the spine. Two pamphlets in one.
The first gathering’s title-bearing folio measures H176 x W246 mm when spread out fully. On its title-bearing page, there is one of the collage elements that Cicale mentions; three others appear on the other half, which is the final page of the first gathering.
Of course, the full images on either side of the title-bearing folio cannot be seen all at once because of the intervening, contrasting and differently sized folded folios. It’s those different sizes and contrasts that somehow urge the reader/viewer to jump forward then back not only to see those full images for every folio but also to enjoy the magic of the contrasts and similarities. Two of the more effective spreads prompting this jumping forward and backward are these below. On the reverse side of the title-bearing folio is a colorful impasto painting of letters, some in sequence, some overlapping.
Perhaps it’s the impasto of the verso page that prompts the jump forward to find its recto mate, but once there, the mirrored colors of the pansy and letters surely prompt a jump back to enjoy again the different colors mirrored before.
Below, the truncated alphabet prompts the leap forward to find its other half, and the contrasting wintry calligraphy facing M through Z sends us back to its other half to puzzle over those collaged thumbnail letter I’s.
Mind that all of this has occurred in just the first gathering.
The second gathering has fewer folios and perhaps fewer prompts to jump forward and back, but there is at least one prompt to jump back to the first gathering. The first page of the second gathering recalls from the first gathering the folio of wintry calligraphy — the one above with the two puzzling thumbnail letter I’s.
Curiously, the second gathering has several more of those thumbnail letter I’s than the first gathering has. In fact, due to the narrowness of the inner folios, the collaged thumbnails are also more constantly present to the eye. In general, the thumbnails and narrow inner folios make the second gathering more about the collage effect and strong contrasts across the differently sized pages and less about jumping forward and back.
When we reach the final page of the second gathering, there sits the thumbnail, almost as if it were the illuminated initial of “Incipit” — except, of course, this is the end.
Tantalizing and enchanting as those thumbnail letter I’s are, they also draw attention to the experiment’s one jarring folio. It appears in the center of the first gathering and is quirkily the only off-center folio in the whole book. It is also the folio that, with an explicit message, forecloses the surrounding incipience. With that twee red heart beneath the red thread, out the window goes the structural and material subtlety so enjoyable in the rest of the book.
Love Letters: An Anthropomorphic Alphabet (2008) Rowland Scherman Casebound, doublures, perfect bound. H178 x W180 mm. 34 pages. Acquired from Rowland Scherman, 3 March 2023. Photos of the book: Books On Books Collection. Displayed with permission of Rowland Scherman.
Giovanni Battista Bracelli’s “Alfabeto Figurato”, a single-sheet etching, occurred well after Carravagio’s presence there earlier in the century but well within the sphere of his ongoing influence. The print’s contortions of human bodies to display that most human of inventions — the alphabet — would probably have pulled a sneer of admiration from him. Maybe Bracelli had heard of the 5th-century comic playwright Kallias, who had his chorus dance (no doubt “cheek to cheek”) the shapes of the Ionian contenders for letterforms. In 1969, Anthon Beeke and Ed van der Elsken had their naked models arrange themselves into the alphabet on the studio floor and took photos from above. When Rowland Scherman saw Bracelli’s print on a London bus 340 years later, he wondered if human bodies could actually hold those poses or ones like them.
In the third decade of the 21st century, when book bannings and body shaming have reached new heights (or depths), Scherman’s “Story of Love Letters” might leave the reader wondering if we are now running headlong past Kallias and the 5th century into the pre-alphabetic world.
Dukes, Hunter. 27 April 2023. “Punctuation Personified (1824)“. The Public Domain Review. Not only could letters be formed with the human body, so could quotation marks and square brackets.
The Voice of the Yarn (2022) Pramod Chavan Casebound, glued, illustrated paper over boards, plain doublures. H325 x W235 mm. 66 pages. Acquired from the Artist, 20 May 2023. Photos: Courtesy of the artist.
The technique of painting or printing by pulling a soaked string from a folded sheet of paper will be familiar to Western kindergarten and elementary school teachers. In India, the technique has been raised to an art form. The tradition of painting with rope, string or thread had its champion in the late B.K.S. Varma. Joining that tradition to the tradition of alphabet-inspired art is a new champion: Pramod Chavan.
Chavan calls his art “thread typography”. These process photos showing his manipulation of inked thread between folds of paper suggest that “thread calligraphy” might be just as apt. Whichever term, the results achieved — without direct sight of ink, tool and surface — are astonishing. It evokes the Punch cartoon of the kingfisher sitting on a branch and calculating in its speech bubble Snell’s law for entering the water to catch the fish swimming below the surface. Pramod Chavan must have a similar speech bubble filled with calculations for Bézier curves.
Between A and Z, The Voice of the Yarn lays out both the upper- and lower-case letters individually and the alphabet entire on double-page spreads like that above and below. The role of the fold in this technique is echoed in similar but very different ways by Jim Clinefelter’s A Rohrshach Alphabet (1999) and Étienne Pressager’s Mis-en-pli (2016).
The choice of background for photographing the double-page spreads makes a nod and smile to the usual floral images that arise when the technique is introduced for school — or after-school — art projects. Chavan’s thread typography springs from simple elements and opens into complex images — very much in the spirit of the alphabet itself.
“Carol DuBosch“. 25 February 2023. Books On Books Collection. If DuBosch recapitulates her Alphabet of Calligraphic Tricks (2014), perhaps she can persuade Chavan to contribute an ampersand!
ABC of Typography (2019) David Rault Casebound, sewn, illustrated paper-over-boards cover, endbands, sewn, red doublures. H265 x W195 mm. 128 pages. London: Self Made Hero [Translated from French (Gallimard, 2018)]. Acquired from The Saint Bookstore, 29 June 2023. Photos: Books On Books Collection.
David Rault’s ABC of Typography traces 3,500 years of letters and type from pictographs and cuneiform through Roman lettering and Gutenberg to the Bauhaus and beyond. For the Books On Books Collection, it enriches the focus on the alphabet, typography and artists’ books — in particular, that subset of illustrated histories of the alphabet and type. These include Tommy Thompson’s The ABC of Our Alphabet (1952), William Dugan’s How Our Alphabet Grew (1972), Tiphaine Samoyault’s Alphabetical Order (1998), James Rumford’s There’s a Monster in the Alphabet (2002), Ada Yardeni’s A-dventure-Z’ (2003), Don Robb and Ann Smith’s Ox, House, Stick (2007) and Renzo Rossi’s The Revolution of the Alphabet (2009).
While enhancing that subset of illustrated reference works, ABC of Typography also highlights a gap in the collection. Rault and his team of invited artists hail from the Franco-Belgian tradition of lesbandes dessinées (BDs), which the French and Belgians call laNeuvième Art (“the Ninth Art”). English-language readers will likely be familiar with BDs from seeing Hergé’s Tintin or René Goscinny’s Asterix. Other than Chiavelli’s Arthur R./Un Coup de DÉS Jamais N’Abolira le HASARD (1988) and its two companion volumes, the collection has no BDs. The Rault volume does, however, deliver a mini-survey of styles among contemporary bandes dessinateurs with its assignment of chapters to eleven different artists.
The book’s overall design by Jean-Christophe Menu simultaneously embraces and sets off the individual styles of drawing and lettering. Menu’s consistent use of a slab serif font (Lubalin Graph Std?) for chapter titles alongside oversized chapter numbers that bleed off the facing page signals his intent and success.
The variety of “strip” layouts pushes the boundaries of unity. Some, like Libon’s and Clérisse’s, float on the page. Others, like Singeon’s and Simon’s, are ruled off. Within the strip layouts, panels vary in shape, and the images within them tilt at different angles, all creating as much of a sense of movement as any action comic. Even where a strip is ruled off, sketches sometimes encroach across panels as well as the book’s margins or gutter to give depth and perspective as well as movement. as happens with the gulls in flight below from Aseyn’s chapter.
Note how the gulls in flight in Aseyn’s chapter appear within panels but also cross them and the gutter.
Evident from Clérisse’s recounting of “Les Rencontres internationale de Lure” (an influential annual forum in Provence), Simon’s homage to the typologist Maximilien Vox (one of the forum’s founders) and Ayroles’ positioning of the typeface DIN, the volume’s European roots are never far from the surface, which also makes ABC of Typography a useful and necessary addition to this collection or any shelf of Anglo-centric works about the alphabet, type or design. It’s interesting that, while the French have categorized BDs as the ninth among the ten officially designated arts, typography and design do not yet rate a category. Neither does the livre d’artiste for that matter, which raises a question:
Between the traditional BD and livres d’artistes by graphic artists, is there fertile ground for artists’ books that blend subject, material, form and metaphor into innovative works of book art? The above-mentioned BD by Chiavelli, paying homage to Mallarmé’s Un Coup de Dés, represents one end of that spectrum. Hervé di Rosa, part of the Figuration libre movement, associated with Keith Haring and graffiti artists, can provide the other end of the spectrum with his Un Coup de Dés jamais n’abolira le Hasard (2021), published by Virgile Legrand. For the work of book art between them, Nanette Wylde’s Babar Redacted: ABC Free (2020) might be a case in point. Likewise, Catherine Labio’s curated exhibition in 2013 — “From Bande Dessinée to Artist’s Book” — finds earlier exemplars in the works of Lars Arrhenius, Felicia Rice, Omar Olivera and Mamiko Ikeda.
Babar Redacted: ABC Free (2020) Nanette Wylde Based on an altered copy of the board book B is for Babar: An alphabet book by Laurent de Brunhoff. French link exposed spine on tapes. 9″ x 9″ x .5″ closed. Edition of 3. Photos: Courtesy of the artist.
“Richard Niessen“. 23 April 2021. Books On Books Collection.
Library of Congress. “Bande Dessinée: Comics & Graphic Novels“, in “Reading in French: A Student’s Guide to Francophone Literature & Language Learning”. Library of Congress Research Guides. Accessed 11 August 2023.
Affen und Alphabete [“Apes and Alphabets“] (1962) Helmut Andreas Paul (HAP) Grieshaber Slipcased, self-covered leporello with eighteen original woodcuts of stylized apes and sixteen typographical experiments. H450 x W335 mm. 36 unnumbered sheets. Edition of 300, of which this is #68. Acquired from Winterberg-Kunst, 22 October 2022. Photos: Books On Books Collection.
HAP Grieshaber was one of the foremost German woodcut artists of the post-WWII era. His devotion to the woodcut technique was almost matched by that to the medium of the book, which he used in several formats and sizes for series works. Apes and Alphabets is one of the larger of those series and representative of his undeviating Expressionist style and blurring of borders between letter and image, the civilized and uncivilized, the artificial and the natural. This slipcased accordion book comprises 18 original woodcuts, two of which appear on the cover (one again on the wooden slipcase).
A full page of ranks of blackletter characters echoes a full page of columns and rows of apes with musical instruments. In visual cacophony, the letters make wordless strings just as the apes make soundless music.
Only one of the book’s panels has a touch of color, but the garish orange of the slipcase and book cover shows Grieshaber’s characteristic handling of this element — printing over an undercoat that serves as background. Even when working with a single color in these prints, Grieshaber earns his description as Der Holzschneider als Maler (“the woodcutter as a painter”), to which could be added “collagist”. Although influenced by Paul Klee and Lyonel Feininger, the physical intensity of the prints, this book and the others below sets Grieshaber apart.
His use of heavy wove paper in this work and other monumental ones like Die Rauhe Alb (1968) is equally of a part with a drive toward the tactile and a reaction to the alleviation of wartime paper shortages, which comes up later in Herzauge (1969) below.
Poesia Typographica (1962)
Poesia Typographica (1962) Helmut Andreas Paul (HAP) Grieshaber Paperback, perfect bound Chinese-fold folios, black endpapers. H215 x W155 mm. 28 unnumbered pages. Edition of 1000. Acquired from Print Arkive, 22 October 2022. Photos: Books On Books Collection. Displayed with permission of the publisher Galerie der Spiegel.
The alphabet theme of Affen und Alphabete carries over in the hornbook images on the front and back covers of Poesia Typographica. More than most typographic or concrete poetry, Poesia Typographica addresses the materiality of letters, images, ink, paper and printing — even going so far as to exalt it over the alphabet.
This is particularly clear in Grieshaber’s use of white ink on a transparent sheet to record the tale of missionary Baedeker and his Analphabeten Bibel (“Illiterates’ Bible”). To the Russian peasantry to whom Baedeker distributed thousands of the booklet, he claimed that its eight pages contained “the whole Bible, the pure teaching of our Jesus Christ”. The typeset transparent sheet sits between what would otherwise be a double-page spread of solid black. That spread is followed by one of red, one of white and then one of gold.
The transparent page explains :
the peasants saw in the black of the first page the darkness of their sinful hearts, their great guilt.
in the red of the next page, they united with the divine blood of christ. they walked out the suffering steps of our lord. washed clean in the blood of his love, they won innocence:
the pasture linen of the third page, that is the purity that must be in the heart.
ready to enter into the mystery, to look into the sunshine of God’s face. to fall down in prayer, the sound of the golden trumpets of heavenly bliss in their ears.
A literate reader may smile at the missionary’s metaphorical hoodwinking of the serfs, but the longer the reader moves the transparent page back and forth, registers its interloping nature, and recognizes that “analphabet” doesn’t just mean “an illiterate” but also one who does not know letters at all, the more the materiality of the stiff black, red, white and gold pages makes itself felt and the more the viewer realizes that Grieshaber is laying down a challenge to look beyond the alphabet to the ink, paper and the printing.
Just as in Affen und Alphabete, the reader/viewer must look at letters beyond “shapes for sounds”. Letters may have their roots in the pictorial, but Grieshaber isn’t taking their “shapeness” back to pre-Gutenberg or pre-alphabet pictoriality. He takes it into an expressive post-Gutenberg, post-alphabet visual and material art.
Herzauge (1969)
Herzauge (1969) Helmut Andreas Paul (HAP) Grieshaber Board book casebound in bookcloth, with illustrated dustjacket. H294 x W240 mm. 16 unnumbered pages with 9 color plates. Edition of 800? Acquired from K.G. Kuhn Antiquariat, 14 July 2023. Photos: Books On Books Collection. Displayed with permission of artist’s family.
Hat das Herz noch ein Auge? (“Can the heart still see?”), Grieshaber asks on the last page of this artist’s book for children published by Parabel Verlag in Munich. It’s a disturbing afterword. It changes what you think these Expressionist woodcuts and the words beside them express. Grieshaber explains that, by 1937, paper for printing was scarce. From a generous doctor, he obtained filtration paper on which to print his landscape woodcuts Die Rauhe Alb, his visual ode to the Swabian Alps. Children brought him the sheets of glossy paper on which the original 20 copies of Herzauge were printed and over-drawn with a dry brush. No one wanted Die Rauhe Alb at the time, and all but one copy of Herzauge were lost. His summary phrase — Märchen in dunkler Zeit (“Fairy tales in dark times”) — offers a way into the board book and perhaps an answer to the question “Can the heart still see?”
Second double-page spread. “Ach Alm, a knight once moaned. Achalm, I live in your lap.”
Achalm is a mountain in Reutlingen, Germany. On its top are the ruins of Achalm Castle, ancestral seat of the counts of Achalm, a 13th-century Swabian noble family. The legend is that the name comes from Count Egino’s dying words to his brother. He meant to say “Ach Allmächtiger!” ( “O Almighty!”) but only uttered “Ach Allm…“, and to honor Egino, the brother named the mountain and castle Achalm. It’s a clever poem and clever woodcut. The last word Schoß — meaning bosom, arms, heart or lap — is close to the word Schloß — meaning castle. Turning the castle into a fairy tale crown, the woodcut also gives the mountain a feminine visage, a sweep of white that looks like an embracing arm and a village nestled in its lap.
This spread comes after the first in which a black woebegone bird in a brush-streaked patch of snow occupies the foreground alongside the lines “Winter is a hard man. The tree freezes.” And it precedes the third in which the viewer’s perspective must be that of standing on a dock and looking out on a harbor alongside text that reads, “Do you hear the horn hooting in the harbor? We are leaving.” Achalm is the fairy tale bookended by dark cold before and forlorness after.
The fourth spread’s text — Wer streicht am Abend allein über de Berge? Die Katze weißes.(“Who is painting alone in the mountains in the evening? The cat knows.”) — is a fairy-tale blend of gloomy forest and mysterious animal humor matched by the dark purple undercoat and background of the woodcut.
A fifth spread with colors of dark blue, burnt umber and green against a turquoise undercoat and background shows a distressed Hansel-and-Gretel-like pair on the turquoise path between blue and umber trees and beneath a large blue, umber and turquoise owl that cries “Home, home!” as Der Nacht krab kommt (“The night call comes”)
The sixth and seventh spreads introduce a different air of childhood innocence, one of lessening threat. In the sixth, a child figure with upraised arms (throwing an orange ball up in the air?) wanders down a meadow valley bordered by a knoll of trees leaning over the otherwise sunny scene with black and purple foliage that suggest the faces and hair buns of stern school mistresses. The last line of text — Ich mußzur Schule (“I must go to school”) — evokes a nursery-rhyme dawdling ten o’clock scholar to English ears. In the seventh, Wir haben Ferien (“We have holidays”) sounds like the concluding sentence in a final school assignment and is matched by the child-like drawing of swans, roses, a green lake and a motherly figure. But mother is faceless, preparing us for the afterword’s hopeful but worried question “Can the heart still see?”
It’s good to see a renewed interest in Grieshaber — not only for his own artistry but also his medium. Another of his major works — The Easter Ride, a series of 27 colored woodcuts based on a journey through the Swabian Alb — was exhibited at the Elztalmuseum Waldkirch in early 2023.
Helmut Andreas Paul Grieshaber, better known as HAP Grieshaber, is one of the most important artists of the 20th century in the field of woodcuts. He created numerous large-format, abstract works on socio-political and religious themes. He was considered down-to-earth and idiosyncratic. His art was intended to be visible and accessible to all. … The exhibition invites visitors to engage with Grieshaber’s idiosyncratic, unmistakable visual language and to become acquainted with the technique of the woodcut.
“The Easter Ride” – HAP Grieshaber In this special exhibition, the Elztalmuseum is showing one of the artist’s major works: “The Easter Ride”. 10 March 202307 May 2023, Elztalmuseum Waldkirch
Arch (2010) Kitty Maryatt, Jenny Karin Morrill, Ali Standish, Alycia Lang, Jennifer Wineke, Mandesha Marcus, Catherine Wang, Kathryn Hunt, Ilse Wogau, Jennifer Cohen and Winnie Ding Acrylic slipcase, leporello formed of self-covering booklets sewn together. Slipcase: H410 x W110 x D50. Leporello: H400 x W 90 mm (closed). 64 pages. Unnumbered copy from edition of 109. Acquired from Bromer Booksellers, 7 December 2022. Photos: Books On Books Collection
Nôtre-Dame de Paris (1831), Archdeacon Claude Frollo points to the book in his hand and then to the cathedral and says, “This will kill that”. It is ironic that Hugo’s book (popularly known now by its English title The Hunchback of Nôtre-Dame) was written in large part to save the then-decaying cathedral (post-Revolution, it served as a warehouse), and it succeeded. It is also ironic that, while the fictional character’s metaphor has a point about the book’s permanence of replicability outlasting the building’s permanence of stone, it misses the collaborative foundations of both.
Arch (2010), created by ten students at Scripps College under the direction of Kitty Maryatt, reminds us that the creation of a book — even a work of book art — is a collaborative effort. All the students involved in the design, planning and production were women, a happenstance serendipitously blessed ahead of time by a Los Angeles Times article celebrating women architects. Drawing on that article and Maya Lin’s Boundaries (2000) as well as other research, the students agreed on a mission statement for the work: “Architecture, like books, is a deliberate balancing act between stability and motion, interior and exterior, aesthetic values and practicalities. Books, like buildings, are fundamentally inhabited spaces. They are incomplete without human interaction.”
Clever structural use of paper with a stone-like appearance, paired with apt choices of text matched with equally judicious choices in typography, evoke the similarities between books and buildings. Each architect/bookmaker’s contribution is a self-covering booklet in leporello format. Of different heights, the booklets are sewn together to create a tiered tower to be housed in an acrylic slipcase.
The first booklet, open below, incorporates Maryatt’s introduction, entitled “Blueprint”, all of which appears in the work’s entry in the publication Sixty over Thirty: Bibliography of Books Printed Since 1986 at the Scripps College Press (2016). The entry is reproduced in full further below.
The next booklet lists the sources of architectural inspiration, and as the lattice door on the list’s facing page turns, two sets of stairs, cutouts in contrasting colors, ascend on the verso page to the text that begins at the top of the recto page and ends at the foot of descending stairs on the next double-panel spread. Like Maya Lin, Maryatt’s students built their works by learning to think with their hands. The reader, too, has to think with the hands to experience fully this booklet and those that follow. The whole work conjures up the titles of Juhani Pallasmaa’s books — The Thinking Hand and The Embodied Image. Readers of this online entry will have to expand the images below, enjoy the words and imagine their way through with the title of another of his books — The Eyes of the Skin.
Lynn, Greg. 2004. Folding in Architecture Rev. ed. Chichester, West Sussex: Wiley-Academy. See for references to Mario Carpo, Gilles Deleuze and Peter Eisenman.
Macken, Marian. Binding Space: The Book as Spatial Practice (London: Taylor and Francis, 2018). A trained architect and book artist, Macken articulates and illustrates the how and why of the overlap between architecture and book art.
Williams, Elizabeth. 1989. “Architects Books: An Investigation in Binding and Building”, The Guild of Book Workers Journal. 27, 2: 21-31. This essay not only pursues the topic of architecture-inspired book art but turns it on its head. An adjunct professor at the time, Williams set her students the task of reading Ulises Carrión’s The New Art of Making Books (Nicosia: Aegean Editions, 2001) then, after touring a bindery, “to design the studio and dwelling spaces for a hand bookbinder on an urban site in Ann Arbor, Michigan”. But before producing the design, the students were asked “to assemble the pages [of the design brief and project statement] in a way that explored or challenged the concept of binding”. In other words, they had to create bookworks and then, inspired by that, create their building designs. Williams illustrates the essay with photos of the students’ bookworks. [Special thanks to Peter Verheyen for this reference.]
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