Drucker is Wrong/wordswordswords/Viente Poemas De Amor Y Una Cancion de Desesperada

Both Zweig and Drucker believe that all books must have some strong intellectual purpose to them, something that contemporary books seem to lack. Zweig writes that rare books are collected for their content and place in the history of ideas, but these criteria are not applied to contemporary book purchases. Instead, she says, the prettiest books are the ones that sell, regardless of the message (or lack thereof) conveyed. Drucker, with thinking very similar to Zweig, argues that “in the realms of fine art or literature elaborate mechanisms exist for sorting and filtering work,” and books as an art form suffer from this lack of academic structure.  She proposes that, as well as a firm framework for evaluating books, and established canon would bring order and clarity to a confused genre.

However, I think that Zweig’s focus is ideological, and that Drucker’s view on art and the academy are incompatible with my own.

Zweig’s method of evaluating book-worth is the desert island test; if you were stranded, what book would you bring? She claims that a paperback would bring her more enjoyment than an artist’s book because, as a rule with few exceptions, the content is more engaging. While that is a perfectly fine choice for the last book you will ever encounter, is that a fair way to judge luxury books?

In addition, why is it contradictory to think that a beautiful, meaningless, purposeless book can be art? Oscar Wilde claims in his preface to A Picture of Dorian Gray that  “those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only beauty.” Is beauty not an end and purpose in and of itself? Must the meaning be plain for it to be appreciated? Wilde concludes that “all art is quite useless.” Is it a higher artistic calling that influences these critics to conflate greater intellectuality with greater art? Drucker claims that a canon or set structure of evaluation will rescue artist books from themselves. However, any ‘canon’ that emerges from “critical consensus and debate” will begin the process of

funneling people into one mode of thinking The academization of artist books will lead it down a path of invented dichotomies that will serve only to limit expression. Wilde writes that “no artist desires to prove anything” and that “it is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.”  Drucker is entitled to a canon that speaks to, that mirrors her. However I cannot believe that a set canon, especially one defined by the racialized, classed, and gendered academy, could mirror even the majority of potential spectators. Who, then, benefits?

That being said, I would argue that both Schlossberg’s wordswordswords and the Gunnar/Keever/Neruda collaboration of Viente Poemas de Amor y Una Cancion de Desesperada would pass Drucker’s book-legitimacy test.

wordswordswords interested me mostly in that it required the reader to create meaning through connecting page and text. The book played out as an engaging puzzle, poems assembling and fragmenting as pages are turned, layering on one another as the light shines through the paper. Though the words themselves are arguably most manipulated material in the book, the meaning conveyed by them often undermines their primacy. Schlossberg printed that “THESE/WORDS/WILL/ FALL/ APART/ TO BE/ SURE/ TOMORROW,” a strange idea in a book comprised almost entirely of them. It is obvious in his treatment of words, especially in his repeated use of fragmentation, that this book is both a celebration of the word and a reminder of its ultimate mortality and futility. In this way, it “moves my understanding from one place to the other” as the book progresses.

Neruda’s Viente Poemas de Amor y Una Cancion de Desesperada was beautifully adapted by Gunnar and Keever into an interactive form that conveyed what, for me, is a central message of the collection. Neruda’s  20 poems inundate the reader with all of the complexity and layers of his love, almost desensitizing her to its potency. This is reflective of the redundant, unremarkable nature of a love that is not your own, and of romantic love in general; while it is necessarily unique and individualized, some form of it is experienced by the majority of humanity, making it in one sense mundane. As you approach the latter quarter of the poems, the imagery grows darker.  In Gunnar’s book, this is illustrated by steadily larger flaps, with more space as the poems progress. The brightest colors are reserved for the earliest, youngest poems, and dark blacks color the poems deeper in the book. The song of despair at the ends the book, structuring it so that as the reader plunges further into the book it becomes darker and more consuming (literally, by the growing pages). The song is given a full four pages to exist and express on, more room than any of the poems. The stanzas are layered and fractured throughout semitransparent paper, forming an obscure whole at its start. As you turn the pages to see more clearly, however, you lose sight of the whole. Despair often behaves similarly.

Drucker would appreciate it for its intellectuality, a clear merging of meaning and structure.

Zweig and Drucker

In Critical Issues/Exemplary Words Johanna Drucker states, “when I look at a book for the first time, I want to know (though it usually shows immediately in the work) whether the artist who made it has made books before, understands the form they are working with, and has the combination of intellectual and artistic skills to pull it off”. Most of the books in book set 5 and 6 personally seem to match these criteria. However, Drucker continues to argue that the phrase “’I am a book artist’ is subject to unholy abuse”. In Janet Zweig’s All Dressed up with no place to go she argues that “rare books from the past, more often than not, are valued by librarians for their content and their place in the history of ideas, not merely for their bindings. Why must the criteria change when the same librarians collect contemporary work?”

Wordswordswords by Edwin Schlossberg and Veinte Poemas de Amor y Una Cancion Desperada by Pablo Neruda are the books that I looked at from each book set. However, as I observed them up close for the second time (keeping Johanna Drucker and Janet Zweig’s criteria of a successful artist book in the back of my mind) I concluded that Schlossberg’s work may not be considered as effective as Pablo Neruda’s love poems.

Wordswordswords was a book that immediately caught my attention. Why? Because of its shimmering pages and diverse use of materials. As we all know by now, I am drawn to contemporary works that stand out for their vivid colors and use of mixed media. Experiencing each page one by one was a fun journey, but some of the materials used as pages made it hard to read the words printed on them and therefore that slowed down my pace. It was clear that the book wanted to play with the relationship between words and material. However, as both Drucker and Zweig stress, the right combination of artistic and conceptual skills is key to developing a good artist book. Edwin Schlossberg’s artist book may be aesthetically beautiful to look at as each page works beautifully with the one that lies underneath it, however, conceptually, does it hold content that is informative or legitimately meaningful? Not really. Is it a book that I would come back to again and again? Not really. Most importantly, ‘does it move my understanding from one place to another?’ not really. The balance is clearly off. Therefore, an artist book that I found personally compelling is one that would not be strongly considered a successful artist book in the eyes of Drucker and Zweig.

Veinte Poemas de Amor y Una Cancion Desperada by Pablo Neruda was another book that drew me in pretty quickly, because of its bright green and yellow cover. As I opened the book and turned the delicate, translucent pages, the shapes on each page fell together and formed silhouettes of a person’s face. The book already consisted of a strong use of mixed media. Additionally, the poetry within the book was put together in a flap like structure allowing each flap to grow a little bigger as the reader progressed from one poem to the next. This artist book managed to hold my attention by giving me elements to interact with but at the same time made my experience of the Neruda’s love poetry intimate and quiet. The dual visibility of the book as a whole and each individual flap made the book structure unique and interesting. This book form moved me. It took me on a journey that I would not mind going on again. It made me feel as though Neruda wrote the poetry specifically for me (the reader). Neruda added surprises to the book whilst I turned the pages keeping me captivated to continue forward. Neruda wanted his poetry to be read and experienced in a certain way and (with the help of Kim Keever and Gunnar Kaldeway of course) came up with a strong execution of the interplay between text and image. Would Johanna Drucker and Janet Zweig approve of this as a convincing artist book? I believe so.

In conclusion, both book set five and book set six consisted of books that I found to be aesthetically very compelling and engaging, however by following specific criteria, only a few would be considered different and worth collecting. However, I have to say, personally while I agree that an artist book must strike a good balance visually and mean something legitimate, I believe that if it is good enough to be remembered or referenced, regardless of the criteria, it is considered successful.

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1c Life and Ein Gedicht fur ein Buch

I can’t speak for all the books in these sets, but I’d like to focus on 1c Life and Ein Gedicht fur ein Buch as examples of Livres d’Artiste that are both artistic and intellectual. The design and structure of the livres work with their contents to enhance the purpose of the book, and make for a more meaningful experience than just having the illustrations or poetry stand alone.

For 1c Life, a collaboration of poetry by Walasse Ting and with lithographs by many Pop artists, the book captures the zeitgeist of the 1940-50s. The specific choice of Pop Art over other art styles (like say, realism) indicate that the purpose of the book might have been – like the rest of the Pop Art movement, as Mamiya observes – to criticize the broader culture of America at the time.

This is especially apparent in one of the earlier poems (the title of which I can’t remember) which is about the devastation of the atomic bomb, engulfed by an image of lynchings. Another poem, “Around the U.S.A.” depicts an image of an idealized comic book blonde and a finger on the button of a spray can hovering over a poem that at one point says regarding women, “You will never be angry crying mad/It is great to live/with artificial flowers.”

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(http://www.woodwardgallery.net/misc/onecent-lichtenstein.jpg)

Certainly, the images don’t literally match the poems, but they offer an interpretation of the text that makes the reader consider the poem in context of culture. Perhaps the reader may think about the media’s idealized images versus the darker reality, or the way the dominant culture prefers to overlook the horrors it has caused through lynchings and bombings. Thus, the images help to enhance the poem’s message.

A similar effect applies to Ein Gedicht, where it further uses the structure and material of the book itself to strengthen the message. The poem by Yoko Tawada is scattered across pages with black and white photography by Stephan Kohler, all printed on very thin pages. This leads to the shadows of images blending with each other, and the words themselves become thin and transient. I get the impression that the poem is discussing loss and the brief nature of life, and while I can’t find a full translation of the poem, there’s one passage from it that supports this interpretation: “one hears without ears/a word/freed from its duty … the drum falls/noiselessly.” The book has a very simple message, and is not overproduced, as Zweig fears. The effects of the images changing and melding together as the pages are turned help the poem deliver its theme.

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“Opening doors of imagination” or “all dressed up, with no place to go”?

AntonakosIn “Critical Issues/Exemplary Works” Johanna Drucker argues that “creating a canon, a critical terminology, and a descriptive vocabulary is a necessary step if artists books are going to come of age.”  Janet Zweig  and Drucker both argue for the importance of combining artistic and intellectual skills in conceiving of and developing artists books.  They are especially critical of book projects which are beautifully produced, yet lack a compelling reason to exist.  Do you think their criticism applies to the livres d’artiste that we viewed in Book Sets 5 & 6?  Please choose a book from each set to consider in depth, using these questions as a springboard for your analysis:

How do the visual and tactile elements of the book serve to engage the viewer?  How do they influence your experience of the book’s content?

 What was the project set by the maker(s) in creating this book?

 How do the materials and design that s/he chose serve this purpose (or not)?

You may also wish to consider some of the questions that Drucker applies to an artwork in any medium: “Does it move my understanding from one place to another?…Does it open a door of imagination or insight or make a significant argument? Does it fulfill the terms of the problem set by the artist? Was it an interesting problem or initial idea?”  When referring to Drucker’s or Zweig’s articles in your blog post, please briefly summarize the idea or argument to which you are responding.

Book set 4

Cortege is bold, both in text and image.  With Andre Lanskoy’s collages being so visually loud, there was a large margin of error in creating a balance between word and image. I think that the way Pierre Lecuire chose to approach this potential relationship between text and image was successful.  This success, in many ways, was due to Lecuire’s creative direction.  Lecuire pushed Lanskoy to use collage instead of his traditional method painting, and thus Lecuire could better anticipate the visual relationship between his poetry and Lanskoy’s work.

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I found Cortege to be overwhelming, but not necessarily in a bad way. The text is so large, but it had to be to stand against the strong geometric color of Lanskoy’s collages.  The text almost acts as another visual collage of sorts becauseof the way it takes up the entire page.  On some pages, the shapes of the large capital letters are mimicked in the forms that comprise the accompanying collage. This subtle harmony may or may not have been intentional, but due to Lecuire’s involvement in every aspect of his books’ production, I would assume he was hyperaware of the nuances of connections between text and image.

While Cortege is a collaborative work, Lecuire definitely had a clear creative vision.  From what I gathered from the Giroud reading, Lecuire’s books were less collaborative than other Livre D’Artistes.  Lecuire wrote, designed and published his books and I got the feeling that he employed, rather than collaborated with, the artists he chose.  This style ultimately produced very cohesive works, but there was less diverse conversation between text and image.

As I don’t speak French, I can only comment on the visual relationship between text and image in Le Chef-d’oevre Inconnu (though I did do a little research on this book, and will include it in this post, I acquired this knowledge after my initial experience with the book).  The layout of Le Chef-d’oevre Inconnu was a good balance between the heavily integrated text/image of A Toute Epreuve and the physical separation of text/image of Cortege.  Each folio presented a different juxtaposition of text and image; some pages were mainly text interspersed with smaller images, while others were dedicated to Picasso’s drawings entirely. A second relationship, that between image and image, was also present in Le Chef-d’oevre Inconnu, which gave the book a multidimensional feeling.  Often there was the coupling of stylistically different images on one page spread.  This encouraged the reader to find parallels and relationships between content on a deeper level.

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I discovered through my research that Picasso’s illustrations do not serve as a literal depiction of Balzac’s text but rather are inspired by Picasso’s identification with the main character from Le Chef-d’oevre Inconnu.  As was traditional of Vollard’s publishing style, Picasso had free range to interpret the text as he saw fit.  The collaborative aspect was most prevalent between publisher and artist, as Vollard acted as a stand-in or representative for Balzac who died in 1850.

Cortege and Fables

Fables, as conceived by Amboise Volllard, was published in 1952 with Marc Chagall’s manic etchings paired with several of La Fontaine’s moralistic animal stories. At first glance, the relationship between La Fontaine’s text and Chagall’s images is rather standard; the traditional margins are respected, the text is Roman an serifed, printed in dark black ink and italicized. Leading was used to create the typical, centered look given to most poems. Chagall’s etchings were printed intaglio, and compose one half of the story’s folio. Vollard thoughts, however, ran much deeper. La Fontaine’s Fables, when first published, were intended for adult audiences-France at the time was morally weak, and the Fables were meant to counteract that trend. Of course, in time, the audience for the Fables grew younger until it consisted entirely of children. Vollard sought to combine, in essence, this contradiction of the history of the Fables. In his interpretation of Fables, Vollard chose the youthful contemporary artist Marc Chagall to illustrate the fabulist’s work. Chagall’s etchings for the book are sinister and foreboding, and eerily well matched to what we now consider children’s stories. For la Fountaine’s La Deux Mules, Chagall produced a frenzied etching, all in monochrome. The only colors in the book – black and white – emphasize the original moralist message of the Fables, and the dichotomous way morality in general is viewed. In the etching of the mules, the black creeps into the outline of the vain robbed and fallen mule, a physical representation of the sin he tainted himself with. The other stands erect, humble, and white.

Cortege by Pierre Lecuire is unique and rare in that its publisher was also its writer- and its artist, and its advocate. Cortege is entirely the product of Lecuire’s mind, making the text – a metacommentary by Lecuire about the book itself- rather fitting. Lecuire writes that his “book is a procession” and the text is meant as a visual pause for the parade of pochoir images. The margins for the text of Cortege are not so neat and large as those of Fables, and the images themselves extend beyond the page – there are no margins. The color used by Lecuire is vivid and dynamic, deeply bold and compellingly abstract. The text, which, especially in comparison with the images, occupies a familiar mise en page in order to balance the barrage of color of the images, creating a harmonious folio.

For both Fables and Cortege, the intended audience was a mix of art collectors and book collectors. The historically conservative book collector demographic struggled initially to accept the vitality of the images of both books, and art collectors did not typically purchase books.

Distinguishing characteristics of the livre d’artiste, instantiated in both Fables and Cortege, include the use of rare and fine materials, limited number of editions, hand coloring/printing, large formats, fine bindings, and a collaborative nature. Artist books are usually the product of a team of individuals, of many visions, making them a unique and inclusive art form.

Jazz and A Toute Epreuve are important historical landmarks of the artist book, or deluxe book. Cortege and Jazz are often linked because of their similar format and tone, especially in their shared use of pochoir printing. This style of book has influenced artists books irrevocably.All of this began with Matisse’s JazzA Toute Epreuve is similarly influential in that in compromised the traditional mise en page. The images and text loop around one another, interacting and emphasizing each other through their placement on the page and the bright, primary colors colliding with the black, Roman text. Both books changed the way in which mise en page and how images and text interact with one another are viewed by contemporary publishers.

Legibility

For this book set I was drawn to the The Doves Bible and Harold McGrath’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I enjoyed the simplicity of both books and the cleanness of their page layouts. Based on his essay “The Ideal Book” I know that Morris would have an entirely different opinion on each book. The text of both books is published in Roman font, which Morris would have been opposed to, claiming that the type contributed to illegibility. Of the two books, the Doves Bible would have been the least offensive to Morris. The minimalism of the page layout contrasts with the stunningly decorated pages of Morris’ publication of Chaucer; however, it suggests the simplicity of the incunables that he admired. In his essay Morris claims “that a book quite un-ornamented can look actually and positively beautiful, and not merely un-ugly,” suggesting that he may have found beauty in the cleanness of the pages of the Doves Bible that reference older text through their strict justification and usage of black and red (67).

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Contrastingly, Morris would have found great fault with McGrath’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn as it demonstrated the type of industrial manufacturing that he objected to. While the spacing of the Doves Bible is relatively tight despite the airiness of the Roman font, the lines of Huck Finn are noticeably separated. Morris would have commended the pages of the Doves Bible for their handmade quality, and would have criticized Huck Finn for its commercial paper.

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I agree with Morris when he states that an un-ornamented book can possess beauty, as I find beauty in the controlled simplicity of the Doves Bible; however, I am unable to relate to his opinions on illegibility. Perhaps it is my modern perspective, but I found the published pages of Chaucer to be the most difficult text to read of the books that we viewed. The business of each page and the closeness of the thick, black text made the words difficult to focus on and decipher, but I also have very poor eyesight. After seeing many crumbling modern books whose pages have acidified I can understand Morris’ criticism of industrial manufacturing, and admire the enduring pages of the Doves Bible. However, I do not think that the value of such books as McGrath’s Huck Finn should be entirely written off because of their manufactured nature. The text and the detailed illustrations are still well crafted and still hold meaning.

 

Relationship Between Text and Imagery

I found that, among the books we explored in this last set, there were various relationships between the text and the artwork.

In Fables, we saw a more traditional mise en page. The artwork played the role of illustration, but it was not a mere decoration: It was presented as playing a role, equally important in understanding the text, but still confined to its own quarters. An exception to this was found on the title page, where the artwork had a more dynamic and dominant presence. The name of the artist and other information were confined to the corners among the foliage as the images spread across the title page, transforming it into an inviting scene, drawing you in to discover what lay amid the pages.

Although Picasso’s work in Le Chef-d’oevre Inconnu was not integrated with the text, there was a play between the two, as evidenced by the wordless introduction comprised of lines and dots, often resembling musical instruments. On the title page (see below), we see the image of two overlapping faces. The O and E in the title do this as well. For the first time, there is a clear dialogue between the images and text, the latter of the two beginning to enter the realm of artwork, which we see come to fruition in Cortege and Jazz.

In Jazz, the literature and artwork were well balanced. The calligraphic font played off the vivid pochoirs. This made sense, as the narrative seemed to contain a similar dialogue with the images. This was also the case for Cortege, which held bold pages of text that bled to the very edge and complimented the audacious collages which were also without margins. The justified text was no longer viewed as words, but, rather, a visual field of color and shapes — an abstract block, just like the artwork.

Books, such as A Toute Epreuve, displayed the artwork as the dominant partner. The quiet font was often pushed by the lively blobs and squiggles out of the confines of the traditional margins to linger, off-centered, in the far corners of the page.

So far, we have seen little deviation from the traditional format of the codex, but a shift in and greater variety of text-artwork relationships.

Livre D’artiste, Matisse, and the Freedom to Realize an Artform

Henri Matisse famously stated: “I do not distinguish between the construction of a book and that of a painting and I always proceed from the simple to the complex.”

One must then ask how many artists are allowed to freely merge both forms, and what makes such innovation possible?

Jazz (1947)

Jazz (1947)

First, let us start with Matisse’s own work. A classic example of the livre d’artiste genre, Jazz immediately draws the viewer in with its use of color and pages upon pages of large, boldened cursive text. In Jazz, image and text actively interact with one another. Text and image are paired off side-by-side and serve complementary functions; the boldness of the writing echos the intensity and brightness presented by Matisse’s images. These effects are both achieved consciously by Matisse, Jazz employs the pochoir stencil technique, the results of which create bright and colorful images with almost three-dimensional qualities. Similarly, the boldness of the text is created by the choice of paper and ink. The playful and lively sentiment behind Jazz is fully realized by the Matisse’s artistic decisions but, one must question how in control was Matisse in the production of the book and to what end?

Within the livre d’artiste genre a variety of different people may be involved in any one production. While publishers such as Iliazd demanded complete control over their works others such as Teriade (who worked with Matisse) offered artists great creative freedom and mostly focused on ensuring the high quality of materials. As the reading Iliazd and The Illustrated Book tells us:

“Artists were likewise free to propose texts to illustrate and the roster of authors published by Teriade affirms the diversity of their choices, which ranged from contemporary artist’ writings to the literature of classical Greece. The freedom Teriade accorded his artists is also reflected in their varying interpretations of the role of illustrator. Matisse, for example, executed the compositions for Jazz (published 1947) before the existence of his accompanying text” (Isselbacher 15)

One might argue that Jazz would not be the book it is today (or as integral to the livre d’artiste genre) were in not for the freedom Matisse was given by Teriade. I would certainly agree with this statement, citing the crucial artistic and aesthetic decisions of Matisse not only with regard to image but with regard to text to be essential in producing the overall experimental nature of the book. It was Matisse’s mindset coupled with Teriade’s laissez-faire philosophy which allowed Jazz to be fully realized.

Book Set Four: Jazz and A Toute Epreuve

The two books that most captured my attention were Jazz by Henri Matisse and A Toute Epreuve by Paul Eluard. Both books harness the colorful and youthful art work of famous artists to create playful works of art. The intensely vivid presentations are a testament to the new and exciting ideals of the Livre D’Artiste movement in Europe.

Eluard’s A Toute Epreuve effortlessly utilizes free-form and open field of the book format.  Miro’s fantastic illustrations remind me of a child’s drawing with the use of primary colors and abstract shapes. I also appreciate how he adds different textures with woodcuts to reproduce a wood grain pattern on the page. The combination between Miro’s prints and woodcuts inserts an immediate and organic motif to the book. In seeming contrast between the youthful illustrations, A Toute Epreuve’s text is in black type font, simplistic, and in block format. However the natural aesthetic of the illustrations work in tandem with the text to utilize space and movement in order to support the context of the page, ultimately creating a very enjoyable and vivid read.

Henri Matisse’s book Jazz separates the text from the illustrations but produces a full visual spread that exudes movement and energy. Matisse’s control of both the artistic and textual image probably factors into the completeness of this book. The pochoir technique lends itself to the dense and bold colors which are appropriate for the kind of book. The bright collage on each page mirrors the text of the book. Matisse chose to use his own handwriting to produce the text, filling the entire page with his large, flowing cursive. The side-by-side positioning of the text and image facilitates an intriguing visual rhythm between the illustrations which flows into the text.

Both these books embody the successful collaboration between artist and publisher. Both Jazz and A Toute Epreuve incorporate the ingenious talent of their artists with the vision of the publisher to successfully conceive a thoroughly engaging and stimulating type of book.