The Birds [and The Boxes]

Well, Kansas isn't flat. At least, not this part.

There's been a running theme of birds since I arrived, hence the title for this post. But I'll get to that later...

First, just a few comments on where we're at and how we got here [and by "we", I am referring to my daughter and I]. We left Virginia on June 6th and arrived on the 9th. I wanted to leave plenty of time for the drive and I didn't want us stuck in the car more that seven or eight hours a day. It's hard to be a little person alone in a backseat surrounded by boxes.

We managed to make very good time and arrived right when I expected, on the afternoon of the third day. Our new landlord was around to greet us and give us the run down on the place. It's furnished with a motley assortment of furniture, but it's cozy and functional.

The next day, we met with one of the ladies from the lab, Roberta Woodrick, who showed us around town and pointed out some necessities: public library, public pool, farmer's market, ice-cream shop. Yay!

Turns out I split my time at work between the Spencer and the Watson libraries. There are several [eight, I think?] libraries on campus. My apartment is only a few blocks from campus and my daughter's summer camp is a few miles down the road. Quite a spectacular change from all of the commuting in and around DC. Anyway, the libraries and campus are lovely. The lab crew are lovely, too. I don't know why, but apparently Kansan conservators/interns tend to be attractive, young women! Who love to talk about food. Sound like heaven? It is.

My boss, Whitney Baker, and all the people at the lab made me feel very welcome and encouraged in the face of a new, exciting and slightly terrifying adventure. We discussed lots of projects and ideas for what I'll be accomplishing during my short time here. First on the agenda: a group of tissue paper proofs of John Gould's bird specimens.

The paper is in varying states of disrepair. Some require a bit of dry cleaning and unfolding, other will need humidification and flattening. It's a painstaking process, as the paper is often brittle, as well as being so delicate and often friable. Seeing the various stages of the creative process makes it worthwhile, though, as well as seeing the unusual species represented. The work on this project takes place in the Spencer Library, which happens to be host to a family of swallows. From what I can tell, and I'm no ornithologist, but they're Cliff Swallows. Let me know if your opinion differs!

In addition to the Gould proofs, I've been making clamshell boxes for a variety of special collections items. Surprisingly, I had never made a clamshell prior to coming here. It's a pretty fun skill to learn, and it opens the door to a variety of possible side-projects: doll house, maybe? maze?

I started by making some for octavo and quarto sized books, then I was handed an adorable little dos-a-dos that's oblong and probably in the range of a sexto. Now I'm making some big'uns. They're double walled, with rabbitted corners, amounting to a very sturdy box that rather resembles a piece of furniture than a book housing. The printed instructions I received originated from the LC, and guess who's name is on the list of contributors! Here's looking at you, Bob :) Your legend lives on.

My daughter and I went to a local pet store when we first arrived where I had my ear mangled by the beak of a totally adorable parrot. The following week, we found a baby bird [unsure of the species--just a scraggly, nondescript fledgling] while stopped at a stop sign. So, yeah, a lot of bird-y happenings!

Next week I'll be helping out with a disaster preparedness workshop for library staff. I get to dunk some books in the mud!

The Theology and Gastronomy of Paste

From May 21st through the 31st I workd in another division of the Library of Congress. Just a short term assignment, as I was about to begin my trek to Kansas, but an incredibly valuable one. First of all, the workshop is clean, organized, well-stocked.... heavenly. When I arrived on Monday, a fully equipped bench awaited me. Unbelievable. And not a hide glue machine in sight! Oh joy of joys!

And who, you ask, has been given the task of guiding me through training process? A Bodhisattva named Leslie Long. Quite possibly the gentlest soul I've ever encountered. Although, from what I've gathered, she's a thrill-seeking trouble-maker, too [I kid]. Why, oh, why don't I have a picture of us together?? It was a whirlwind couple of weeks.

Here are some before/after photos of my work:

LINED RECASE

NEW CASE

GROUP SHOT!

We had an excellent time together, running through the manual for general collections care/treatments. I learned a couple of entirely new repairs, and many new approaches to familiar processes such as recasing. I also had the chance to catch the AIC presentations of a few LC folks during the last week. We even cooked up some susu together!

Susu is a Japanese word I've heard/seen translated variously as "dirty water" or "soot". If you're not familiar with it, it's a thick goo made by boiling old acidic paper and boards. Once the water turns a mucky-tea brown, strain out the paper and board bits and reserve the liquid. Slowly simmer and reduce. If you've ever made soap, you know about the term "trace". Once the liquid is nearly gone, just a layer at the bottom, it will thicken. It's critical to watch the pot at this time and keep running the spatula along the bottom until it reaches a "trace" of sorts. Basically, it will be gooey enough that it won't just swish around. You can see the bottom of the pot for a few moments before it recombines. That's when it's ready! Cool it off for a short while--not too long or you can't get it out of the pot. Then pour it into whatever you're going to keep it in. Empty watercolor trays or little glass vials work well. It lasts for ages, so you might only ever make it once [for yourself, anyway].

As with many professions, conservators tend to be taught certain dogma about what they do and they hold fast to it with the conviction of any ordained priest of the cloth. One such set of beliefs concerns the proper preparation of paste. Paste is just wheat starch and water, but, my, what a glut of ideologies surround its manufacture. Proportion, cooking implements, consistency--all variations upon a theme. But we may as well argue the merits of the many branches of Protestantism. Mention microwave cooking to some conservators and they may very well recoil in horror and declare you a blasphemer!

I hold no such hard and fast convictions, as yet. Perhaps, someday, I will be converted to one edict or another. I will stand outside the escalators of metro stations with a hand painted board proclaiming the evils of Paste-Made-by-Unclean-Hands or whatever. Honestly, I'm more interested in eating it.

In Tunisia, there's a snack-cum-breakfast food called aseeda. It's basically flour and water. But there are many varieties made throughout the Maghreb region, the Gulf, even Sudan has it's own take on it. My omi makes it almost exactly how paste is made. It's just a stiff wheat paste-porridge. We scoop some on a spoon, dip it in melted butter and then into a dish of sugar. Yum!!

Maybe that's why I'm hungry all the time when I'm binding books?

Tornado

I'm in the middle of a miniature tornado. Every particle of my life is swirling around me. I've accepted a summer conservation internship at the University of Kansas. Deep in tornado country! How appropos. So I'll be moving twice this summer. That means finding two places to live. Arranging for summer camps for my daughter in one place, getting her registered for first grade in another. Logistical issue after logistical issue, detail after detail. After these moves, my lifetime count for changing homes will come to 32. 32 moves in 30 years.

Yes, I still keep track.

I quit my job at the bindery. Within the month I will have finished my time at the Library, packed for both of the moves, made a preliminary trip to New York, attended a wedding in California, planned & celebrated my daughter's birthday and finally arrived in Kansas...... I knew the one thing I could reasonably let go to make things slightly more manageable was the bindery job. Though I felt wrenched by the decision, reason won out pretty quickly.

So, my last day was April 26th. I guess it's appropriate for me to reflect upon my time there. I knew from the beginning that it was a temporary position, but one that offered incredible learning opportunities. I think I made good use of my time there, and I certainly gained new friends in the bargain.

Me and Mirthe, the sweetest lady ever to work a glue machine

Richard and Bob 

My last day in CALM Division at the Library of Congress is upon me. Today, in fact. My final report is complete, statistics calculated, all hours accounted for. I'll have a break for week or so, and then I'll be training in Binding and Collections Care Division for a two weeks. I'm really looking forward to learning the treatment protocols at LC, and the folks there seem super nice and the workshop is refreshingly clean. And they don't own or use a hide glue machine!! Bliss.

I guess this blog is going to turn into something of a travelogue for the next few months. ROAD TRIP!

Everything Hits at Once

Seems like the universe is telling me to cash in my chips. Maybe that isn't the right metaphor, but a lot has happened recently that seems to be the culmination/pay-off of my efforts. I'm definitely going off to school in the fall. Right now it looks like I'll be attending Syracuse, but there are a couple of other doors I'm still watching to see if they'll open.

I recently attended a workshop given by Karen Hanmer at Pyramid Atlantic Art Center organized by the Potomac Chapter of the Guild of Bookworkers. I took oodles of pictures, some of which I'll share here. Karen taught two different binding structures over the course of the two-day weekend workshop. Drum Leaf and Sewn Boards bindings share some common traits. They are both elegantly simple and versatile structures. We also practiced some edge decoration techniques, which was super messy and fun.

Go, bookbinders, go!

Pyramid manages to be very economical yet generous in workshop space. If you haven't heard of it or taken a class there, I highly recommend you check it out. I volunteered at their open house/31st birthday party last weekend and got to see the resident artists at work in the various workshops... even the glass sculpture studio! 

I found the excellent instruction [peppered with Karen's charming brand of wry humor] and the general enthusiasm and comraderie of the attendees made the experience that much more enjoyable.

Splatter/speckle painting the edges seemed more suited to the outdoors

 

Ahhh.... eye candy

Edge decorating with watercolors and acrylic inks

Right now I'm waiting to hear back from some folks at the University of Kansas about a summer conservation internship. They interviewed me a couple of weeks ago, an interesting and exciting process, and said that they would announce their decision soon. I know how stiff the competition can be for opportunities in this field, so I'm trying to be equanimous about whatever the result may be.

Preservation Week is nearly upon us. Institutions around the country plan events during this time to share resources and ideas. One good man, Kevin Drieger, came up with a neat contribution. He's been profiling established conservators, veritable titans in the field, by asking them a set of questions to prompt them to share their hardwon wisdom. Soon, he'll start posting similar profiles focused on newcomers to the field and, guess what, yours truly will be featured on his blog!

Here's a recruitment message for ya: Hey there bookperson! Are you a binder/conservator/book artist/librarian/general book enthusiast?? Sweet sandals of Zeus, so am I! Wouldn't you like to learn more about all things bibliophilic/bibliopegic happening in your vicinity? I thought so! 

Next time, I'll be putting in my two-cents about the state of book conservation training [or, rather, lack thereof] in our great nation.

Deus Ex Machina

Before I get into the meat of this entry, it pleases me to state that the statistical analyses and reports on the Mutilated Collection are complete and I will oversee transfer to the storage facility beginning next week. Thank jeebus!

Ok. So. Machines. I'm gonna get a little critical here, but I have to say it out of a place of love and experience. Wherever I work, I'm not just learning about the task at hand, or the workflow, or the supply chain, or the latest word around the water cooler. No. I'm also learning about the macro functioning [or dysfunctioning] of the place. That said, let's first look at the interface between man and machine....

The Beast and I seem to have come to an understanding. I have yet to achieve true mastery of her quirks, but she seems to tolerate me enough to allow me to be productive with a minimum of f-ups. She's not the only machine in the shop, however. We have an electric guillotine, jogger, leather parer, and even an electric rounder & backer [who knew!]. Then there are the man-powered machines, the corner cutter, the board cutters, the presses, etc. All require human interface and, most of them being early-non-fancy-versions, are subject to the error[s] of the operator. That said, it occurred to me that a machine is only as useful as its operator and its prevailing maintenance/condition.

Training a human to operate a machine always involves a learning curve. The human brain evolved to memorize and command the body to execute a stunning array of dextrous tasks. But no matter how well a person learns the necessary pattern of movements required to operate a machine, that machine must be able to perform in a predictable way for the exertions of the operator to be effective and efficient. Something as simple as an un-oiled spring can force the operator to adapt a series of compensatory maneuvers that cost time and money. Shorthand: the corner cutter sucks and a task that should have taken 10 minutes instead took 30 minutes to complete.

As an operator, it's probably not really worth getting worked up about when you're just punching the clock, right? Maybe. The employer/manager, however, has a much bigger problem. When efficiency is compromised, so is revenue. Machines that do not optimally function decrease productivity in two ways. The most obvious way is that they make it harder to maximize the time : product ratio, racking up the percentage of hours/wages the operator expends on completing a task, resulting in a product that cost more to produce thus yielding less profit.

The second, less obvious [and often more insidious] problem caused by faulty machinery has to do with the operator. The operator is human. He/she may not have had a well-rounded breakfast, they may have argued with their spouse the night before, they may be dealing with health issues. Even if their day started relatively well and the rest of their life isn't a shambles, a crappy machine can lead to frustration and de-motivation in the workplace. In general, people tend to want to do their best and are often their own harshest critics. In addition, the employer isn't going to air their grievances to the machine or chide it for its mistakes. The human employer is going to take its grievances to the human operator. Undermine the operator, however, and performance is further compromised.

Let me clarify something: I am not a disgruntled employee. I'm just not there enough to get really upset about any of it or take it personally. I'm merely observant. I've run a small business before and, who knows, I may again some time in the future. I'm sure that I could read about what I've learned in a textbook somewhere, but I've been fortunate to learn it in situ.

I've come to believe that the greatest challenges in any work place arise from ourselves and the people with whom we work. One can be a master in one's field, but a poor attitude and interpersonal skills can undermine the best work. I really don't mean to be negative, I'm only meditating on an idea I hope never to lose sight of. I've had good examples, too, for certain. I've been blessed with the friendship and mentoring of several people that are determined to see my efforts succeed and help open doors for me. Thankful doesn't even begin to describe how I feel. Sometimes we all need someone to descend from the  rafters and present us with a sword or strength or salvation in our most desperate hour.

And sometimes they ride in on a giant boar...

Lazy Eye & Idle Hands

Working on this blog has taken a back seat lately, as I've been preparing applications to grad programs. I think it may be time for a little tangent. And, like many tangents, this one requires a bit of exposition in the form of a trip down memory lane. We're about to get personal, so hold on tight....

Around the time I was four years old, my parents noticed that my left eye was listing. Whether inward or outward, I'm not certain. I do remember picking out glasses at the optometrist's office. I still own them!! But glasses alone can't fix a lazy eye, and I was too young for surgery. So, I wore a patch. A giant gauze thing taped over my good eye, meant to force the lazy eye to strengthen. I'm sure I endured plenty of ridicule and villainy at my pre-K. However, my uncanny knack for blocking out unpleasant experiences prevents me from recalling them. Whatever the kids at Mantua Elementary School did/said, the patch paid off.

All better, right? [those are the actual glasses I wore when I was 4!!]

These days, I have a good eye. Eyes. Whatever. Part of what develops in the course of pursuing a craft is the ability to sight measurements and proportion. Last fall I made a trip down to North Carolina to learn from Don Etherington. At one point he asked me to paste the edge of an end paper to an 1/8th of an inch. In his best Michael Cain voice he said, "And I do mean an 1/8th of an inch!". He wouldn't let me use a ruler most of the time, either. He stressed the importance of training the eye to see measurements. I was a bit off that day, I'll admit, but my time at the bindery has given me ample practice.

It isn't just a neat trick. I think it's as valuable as hand skill for anyone practicing a craft. Not to say there's anything wrong with rulers, they're a fine tool. But the greatest tools are not in the tool box.

Whereas a lazy eye could have presented a significant hindrance to my endeavors, my other "defect" may actually be a boon. When I was maybe seven, maybe eight, I began executing complicated rituals in my room before bedtime. Switches had to be in a particular configuration, as did furniture, and then there were the spells. Superstitious combinations of words and finger tapping had to be performed just so in order to prevent certain calamity to me and my family. Over the next sixteen years, my obsessions and compulsions jumped all over the spectrum--some more destructive than others.

I don't wonder why I've struggled with OCD. It runs in my family, though I didn't know it until I was grown and no one else has bothered to get a diagnosis. These days, i don't count my steps or obsess over symmetry. The urge is still there, it's just a much quieter voice.

It occurred to me that there may be a valid, genetic reason for the disorder. I inherited it from my mother's Nordic ancestors. So my theory goes like this: If one wasn't able to stay intently focused on repetitive, often tedious tasks, those long, shut-in winters might have led to psychosis. So maybe the trait developed over hundreds of years of snowy isolation in shuttered stone dwellings on the fjords. Who knows?

What I do know is that it also enables me to maintain a fixed intensity on a task. Sort of like the opposite of ADD. It's most evident when I'm manually engaged. Tiny stitches, carving groove by groove, fold after fold--I become mechanized; a will of production. The devil, for me, is not in the details. He waits for my hands to idle.

Discipline

I'm always interested to find out how bookbinders and conservators I meet came to their field. I've never heard the same answer twice. Tonight, I was faced with the same question and the answer I heard come out of my mouth made more sense than I expected it to. It also helped me decide how to write this entry, which I've been toying with for a few weeks. Before I get to my answer, here's the set-up.

Whether creating a book from scratch or restoring an old one, bookbinding has thus far been a very personal pursuit for me. My hands, my eye, my decision. I'm not too worried about pleasing anyone else, unless the work is for the purpose of honing a particular technique, etc. Working at the bindery, however, is 180 from such an approach. Orders come in, product goes out.

Typical of most Americans, I tend to foster a romantic/nostalgic view of blue collar work. Not exactly Norman Rockwell, but close. Indeed, I bring my lunch to the shop and punch in on a clock and wear an grimy apron. My hands are often chapped, burned or bloodied when I leave. There are a lot of interpersonal dynamics at work. We chat and share our snacks and watch the clock together. Somehow, I've garnered the animosity of a coworker. I do have a nemesis, it's true, but not the crabby lady hunched over the bench. Oh, no. My enemy is a glue machine.

She growls and rumbles. She runs on a diet of hide glue and confidence-shredding frustration. She'll try to digest anything you pass through her sticky maw. She's The Beast. In case you have never smelled hide glue, imagine someone decides to binge on tootsie rolls and vodka all night, then upchucks the lot...that sickly sweet bile smell? Yep. That's about right. 

Working with a glue machine is art and science. When I asked my coworker how she managed to do ANYTHING with The Beast, she joked in broken english that she's a rocket scientist. I believe it. Moreover, I believe she is also a yogi. How anyone could tolerate that sound everyday for 14 years--it must require spiritual calm of great magnitude. The crackling blare of low reception top 40 radio hits only adds to the din. Like most lesser mortals, I usually rely on my iPod to drown it all out. 

When I'm at the LC, I track my progress my numbers: how many adjustable covers made or inspected, how many books surveyed, etc. Though I've often thought that I should do the same at the bindery, there just isn't the time. As soon as one batch of this or that is done, the next task has materialized on the bench. Sometimes I have the wherewithal to photograph what I've done.

Such as making boxes. Dozens and dozens of boxes. Or gluing paper backing to hundreds of cloth endpapers. That's what I was doing when I hurt my shoulder.

I felt it coming on. I knew by lunch that I should probably try to alternate with my left hand/arm. I'm not particularly ambidextrous, but I figured I should at least try. I debated with myself about it for a couple more hours before I couldn't not do it. Eight consecutive hours performing any repetitive motion is bad news. The lovely part, though, the part that carried me past my threshold was the out-of-body contemplation that overtook me during that day. I didn't have to think about the client or the workflow or the cost of labor and materials or anything in particular. All I had to do was glue. Align. Fold. Press. Repeat. 

One of my favorite sayings is "Laborare est orare" ["To labor is to pray"]. I tend to interpret prayer and meditations as variations on the same theme, and so it was that day. My mind was far from my body, on a journey of its own, while my body did work in the world. 

I thought about many things. One of which is why I do what I do and how I came to it. It wasn't until my friend asked me tonight that the answer I felt that day translated itself into words. I don't remember what specifically triggered my interest in bookbinding. It was, more likely, an accumulation of factors. The tradition of craft in my mother's family, the life-long obsession with the written word, the dawning appreciation of books as artifacts, and on and on. In my travels, I've witnessed artists at work in their workshops from the time I was little. I've always been fascinated at the way people who have made the same creative gesture over decades appear to be playing a little game with themselves, a little dance of directed motion that results in something elegant and complete. 

So here's my answer, brought to you, in part, by Wikipedia: "In its original sense, discipline referred to systematic instruction given to disciples to train them as students in a craft or trade, or to follow a particular code of conduct." It follows, then, that someone who intently studies a craft and its methods becomes a disciple of it. And it also follows that by pursuing a discipline, one might also become disciplined. 

I became a bookbinder not because of what I want to do, but because of who I want to be. I want to be a disciple. I want to be disciplined by my work. I want what I do to make me a better person.