Communion Of Dreams


Honor thy mentor.

This item from the Getty on making illuminated manuscripts is making the rounds among my friends who are into things medieval.  It’s relatively short, quite good, and covers the basics nicely.

But I particularly wanted to share it because when it gets to the bookbinding part (at about 4:30) it shows my bookbinding mentor, the late Bill Anthony, doing the work.

Bill was one hell of a craftsman, and a better bookbinder than I’ll ever be. No, that’s not false humility — I’m now just a few years younger than Bill was when he participated in making this video. But at that point in his life he had been a bookbinder for more than 40 years. I’d have to continue to work at it full time for at least another 20 years to have the same time in harness. And since I’m distracted by writing and other things, well, it’d probably take another 40 years to even have a chance to achieve the same level of proficiency. But that’s OK — I’m happy with the choices I’ve made, and the things I have accomplished (and still hope to accomplish).

Anyway, I wanted to share this.

 

Jim Downey



In search of the lost cords.*

So, a couple of things to share this morning …

One, the decision has been made: we’ll be going with a design for the leather bindings which includes raised cords on the spine. In terms of the response I got from people, it wasn’t even much of a competition — “cords” were the favorite almost 10 to 1.

But that doesn’t mean that the book has to have an old look. Not at all. I’m playing around with some design ideas which will incorporate the cords, but which will feel more modern. Watch for some preliminary posts on that in a couple weeks.

Two, if you are expecting to get a leather-bound copy of Communion of Dreams, but haven’t yet told me of your color preferences, do so soon. Further, if you didn’t get a confirmation response from me acknowledging your choices, then please contact me again. Because I had something of a book conservation emergency drop into my lap 10 days ago, things have been delayed a bit — but I’ll still be ordering leather and starting on those bindings before the end of the month. Please don’t delay.

And three, there’s a new review up on Amazon you might want to check out. Here’s an excerpt:

this book is very well worth your time if you love classic sci-fi. i would say that so far it is a combination of arthur c. clarke, isaac asimov, and a little stephen king. not too shabby for an unknown author. not sure if this is a series, and don’t want to ruin anything for myself by finding spoilers in reading others’ reviews. i’ll finish this book first. that may be soon- already lost most of a night’s sleep reading it. this is an original alternative universe, populated by humans and their robots, being created here; that is why it reminds me of asimov.

As always, I invite you to produce your own review, rate the book or other reviews, or just leave a comment in any reviews which particularly engage you. And you don’t have to do so only on Amazon — if you participate in another venue where such a review or recommendation would be appropriate, the help is always appreciated.

One final note: yup, the writing is proceeding apace. More on that later.

 

Jim Downey

*Always did like that album: 

 



Decisions, decisions.

Remember this?

It's a backwards book!

It’s a backwards book!

Well, I’m getting ready to do the actual “normal” edition of Communion of Dreams, and I need to make a decision. The hand-bound, cloth-covered version will look just like that, except with everything done the usual way. Like this:

But I need to make a decision about how the leather-covered versions will look. And I am going to ask the people who have already ordered copies of said versions, but I thought I would also throw open the question for others — particularly if you think that at some point you would like to order one of these (or the same kind of binding for St. Cybi’s Well when that is done).

The question is this: would you prefer a smooth-spine, modern-style leather binding similar to what is shown here:

Or would you prefer a more classic-style leather binding with raised cords on the spine, such as this:

It largely comes down to how the books are sewn together. The cloth-bound edition is sewn on tapes (as seen in the images in this post). I can put the same binding into a leather cover without a problem. Or I can sew the books onto cords (as seen in this entry on my professional site). I don’t mind a little extra work — which would be the case for the raised-cord bindings — but wonder whether the aesthetic is out-of-step with a modern work of science fiction.

So, thoughts?

Edited to add: The two different leather bindings shown just demonstrate the differences between the structures on the spine of the books. In each case, the overall design was determined by *that* project. The final design for my books will be different — and related in theme to each book in a way I think is appropriate.

 

Jim Downey

 



Laborare est Orare.

Avowed atheist that I am, I understand this sentiment and approach to art & craftsmanship:

And Happy Anniversary!

Jim Downey

Via MeFi, where there are a bunch of additional interesting links about Stankard and his work.



Looking backwards.

Remember this?

It's a backwards book!

It’s a backwards book!

Well, after wrapping up the big conservation job last week, I promised myself I’d take some time this week after the holiday and do the rest of the edition. Here’s where I’m at as of this afternoon:

Gathered & folded.

Gathered & folded.

Each stack there is one of the 11 sections of the book.  That’s actually 16 copies, which is the edition of 15 (remember, one book is already done) plus two spares. I’ll “punch” the spares (poke holes in the section spines for sewing) but then stick them into storage as a reserve in case a copy is damaged before I can get it to the client.  Collating and folding is probably the slowest part of the whole binding process.

One additional note — see that thing there in the lower right? It’s this:

Pounamu was highly prized by the Maori for use in making tools and weapons. For generations it was fashioned into chisels, axes, and adzes. While I very much appreciated the beauty of the many pieces of art I had seen created using Pounamu, for me the most memorable souvenir of the trip would be a bookbinding tool called a ‘folder’ made of greenstone. I didn’t expect to find one ready-made, but rather to find a piece of the stone which I could shape to my own use.

And I did. It’s about 5″ long, roughly an inch tall and an inch wide, slightly tapered towards the ends. One side is already highly polished, the others relatively smooth. I’ve already used it as is, and need to spend some more time with it before I decide whether it needs more shaping or not.

I’ve actually decided that the piece is perfect just as is for exactly this purpose: folding thick sections of new paper.

Tomorrow I’ll punch the sections and then start sewing the books.

Just thought I’d share that.

 

Jim Downey

PS: there are currently only 8 copies of this edition unclaimed. Full info here.



There comes a point …
December 28, 2012, 5:56 pm
Filed under: Art, Book Conservation, tech | Tags: , , ,

I love what I do professionally. Seriously, if I hit the (figurative, since I don’t actually play) lottery tomorrow and never had to work again, I would still spend part of my time doing book conservation work, probably as just donation for various under-funded state & local organization who need such work done.

Nonetheless, there comes a point in any project where you’re just glad to be done with it. A couple hours ago I delivered work to a client, including the 1470 legal text I have written about previously. I thought I’d show the end result.

When we last checked in, I said that the book was ready for a cover – one made with fake “cords”. Well, here’s the process of making such a cover:

Prepping the high-density bookboard - using a wood rasp to bevel the edges, which was typical for books of this era.

Prepping the high-density bookboard – using a wood rasp to bevel the edges, which was typical for books of this era.

Goatskin leather. Heavy grain, wonderfully strong and lovely, processed using archival dies and tanning salts. This skin cost about $200.

Goatskin leather. Heavy grain, wonderfully strong and lovely, processed using archival dyes and tanning salts. This skin cost about $200.

Leather cut to size.

Leather cut to size.

I thought I took some pics of the process of mounting the boards and fake cords to the leather, and then the cover to the text block. Guess not. But it is not fundamentally different from the images to be found here.

Here’s the cover, finished and mounted to the text block:

Photo0976

And here it is with the new spine label (calfskin, gold foil) mounted:

Photo0980

Remember, this is how it came to me:

As it came to me. Note the 1960s-era spine added to a 1880-era cover.

As it came to me. Note the 1960s-era spine added to a 1880-era cover.

Big difference, eh?

Jim Downey

Oh, PS: Forgot to mention it yesterday, but I chatted with the librarian at the institution about this book. To the best of his knowledge, there are only about 100 known copies of this book still in existence. One in good condition is probably worth between $50,000 and $100,000.



1454
December 18, 2012, 11:19 am
Filed under: Art, Book Conservation | Tags: , , , , , , ,

This is post 1,454 for this blog.

There’s general agreement that the first copies of the Gutenberg Bible were finished in 1454 or 1455.

So I thought I would revisit progress on my conservation work on the 1470/71 text.

Last time, I had finished resewing the book using a ‘conservation chainstitch’. Historically, the book would have been sewn onto cords, but given the way I had to re-join all the pages into sections, I decided to use a sewing structure which is more gentle on the folios. When the time comes to make the leather cover, I’ll position fake cords (the ‘bands’ you see on old leather-bound books).

With the sewing done, first I applied a light coat of adhesive to the spine and then a strip of thin handmade paper.  I ‘shaped’ the spine a bit to have a slight curve and allowed it to dry overnight. The next day I put the book into a ‘finishing press’, with the spine sticking up:

 

In the finishing press.

In the finishing press.

 

See how the sides of the press drop away from the book? This allows you to use a ‘backing hammer’ to lightly shape the spine more completely with slight glancing blows, molding the curved shape more completely.  This is done to help accommodate the thickness of the sewing thread in each section, and gives the book that very characteristic rounded-spine shape we’re used to on leather-bound books.

Next, I made some endbands (head & tail bands), using a bit of maroon goatskin shaped over a heavy cord. Sewing on nice head & tail bands would most likely been done historically, but it is a bit time-consuming, and again puts stress on the folios of the book. This sort of added-on endband is common now, and they’re just applied with adhesive so they can be easily removed without damage to the folios if/when the book needs conservation treatment in the future.

 

Endcap.

Endband

 

The endbands serve a couple of different purposes. One, they provide support for the part of the leather cover which spans the spine from front to rear board. This helps to stop that portion of the leather cover from either being mushed down or stressed too much from people using it to pull a book off a shelf. But it also gives a nice ‘finish’ to the sections, in case there were any slight irregularities in positioning during the sewing.

 

Endcap, detail.

Endband, detail.

 

Once the endbands are positioned, I apply a section of light, fairly open-weave cloth which will function as a hinge to help mount the text block to the covers. Then another strip of slightly thicker paper goes on the whole spine, from endband to endband, making a sandwich which will help support everything.

 

Ready to cover.

Ready to cover.

 

And poof – the book is now ready for a cover.

 

Jim Downey

 

 



Transformation.

There is truth in this:

The No. 1 question I get at readings is: “How many hours a day do you write?” I used to stumble on this question. I don’t write every day, but when I first started going on book tours I was afraid I’d be revealed as a true fraud if I admitted that. Sometimes I write for 20 minutes. Other times I don’t stop writing for six hours, falling over at the end like an emotional, wrung-out mess, simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated. Sometimes I go months without putting a word on the page.

One night, however, I was asked that question and the right answer just popped out, unknown to me before it found solidity on the air: “I write every waking minute,” I said. I meant, of course, that I am always writing in my head.

I’m lucky.

OK, actually I’m very lucky, because I am lucky in many ways. But what I am thinking of right now is that my chosen profession allows me time to think — to write in my head, as it were.

To write in my head as I preserve the words of others. The written words.  Specifically, the *printed* words.

Like this:

Joined sheets.

Joined sheets.

 

That’s the next step from my last report on the 1470 text. I got all the individual sheets attached, creating “sections” of the book. Or, I should say, re-creating the sections which once were.

Sections "punched" to create sewing stations - where the sewing thread will join them one to the other. And the start of that sewing process.

Sections “punched” to create sewing stations – where the sewing thread will join them one to the other. And the start of that sewing process.

 

Then moving on, linking not just words, not just pages, but whole passages, whole section, one to the other:

Linking, one to the next.

Linking, one to the next.

 

What you see there is called a “chain stitch”. A curious term, implying not just links, but connections, even slavery.

Can words be enslaved?

Clean edges. Clean definitions.

Clean edges. Clean definitions.

 

And this shows — proves — that my technique works. All the sections line up properly.  Almost perfectly.

And so the pages are transformed, from individual pages, into a book.

Like writing.

 

Jim Downey

 

 



It’s getting better all the time.*

Just a quick follow-up to my post about the incunable legal text.

After spending most of last week cleaning up the edges of the sheets, I’ve been working on re-joining the folios. The trick with this is to make sure all the pages wind up being the same size when they’re folded and ready to be sewn — because I don’t want to trim the text block to get a clean fore-edge.

The solution is to make up a simple jig on my workbench:

Photo0952

Lines drawn on the benchtop, some bookboard mounted to the edge. This will help me keep everything the right size and aligned correctly.

Down the center is some Reemay polyester fabric, which will not adhere to the Kozo repair strips.

The book originally had sections of four folios (folded sheets) per section. I can tell this because of the printing conventions of the time, which had a small counter at the bottom of each page indicating where it went in the book. Very handy. For my work, I only need to rejoin the innermost pair of sheets from each section — then the other sheets will be attached to that new center folio. This will keep everything positioned correctly, and make for a strong sewing structure.

Here’s a pic showing the positioning of a pair of sheets:

Notice the gap in the center.

Notice the gap in the center.

And here’s one with a shot of the Kozo repair strip applied. It’s a heavyweight Kozo (Japanese ‘mulberry’ paper), with a strong wheatpaste applied. Makes a great repair, but is completely reversible with a little water if anyone needs to re-do my repairs later. See:

Photo0954

The next step is to iron the strip down with a small tacking iron on moderate heat. This is done with another layer of Reemay between the iron and the Kozo. This gives a clean, flat edge to mount the other sheets.

Which will be my next step.

Jim Downey

*Of course.



Functional beauty.

A good friend shared this item from the NYT with me: A Tool’s Beauty Is in the Eye of Its Holder. It’s a good piece overall, but this particular passage resonated for me:

Why do such objects look so enticing, given that they were designed with very different objectives? One reason is their virtue (another old-fashioned term). It can be both refreshing and reassuring to see an object whose appearance is determined by such laudable qualities as economy, efficiency or reliability, rather than the hope of seducing us visually. Another factor is their honesty. It is easier to feel confident about admiring a utilitarian object, whose appearance is defined by its function, than it can be to enjoy one because of its styling.

Resonated? Yeah. Here’s an excerpt from a meditation about tools I wrote in 1995, and which has gained some recognition since:

This isn’t a respect borne of fear for their sharpness.  It is something more . . . something that is almost spiritual.  When you use a tool, it tends to take on the shaping of the use, and of the user.  It will conform to your hand, wear in such a way that it actually becomes more suited to the task, until in some ways it is easier to use the tool correctly than to use it incorrectly.

I think that this is why old tools, well made and well loved tools, are so valuable.  When you take them to hand, you can feel the right way to use them.  Some of the time that went into shaping that tool, training it for use, can be shared from one craftsman to the next.  So long as the tool is loved, cared for, and properly used, it continues to accumulate knowledge, storing the wisdom of the hands.

If you have a moment, I’d invite you to read both pieces. They make a nice pair.

Jim Downey

PS: Small milestone – this is blog post #1,400 for me here. Just thought I’d share that factoid.




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