Canada Comics Open Library!

I was so swept up in work that I forgot to post about work!

This is the most exciting project I have ever worked on, and I’ve had the complete pleasure of leading this non-profit comics library for the past 9 months— and can finally talk about it!

The Canada Comics Open Library is working on creating an inclusive physical library space to help showcase how diverse and wonderful comics are. Right now we have an online platform with plenty of resources about Canadian comics,  and we are hosting pop-up libraries and events in existing accessible spaces until we are able to rent a space of our own.

This is a poster from our recent launch event

And here are a few photos of community members enjoying comics at our recent pop-up library!

(Photos by Ramtin Teymouri)

A post about the new Toronto Zine Library OPAC and DIY library software

This is an updated version of a piece created for the Toronto Zine Library’s winter 2019 Zine-O-File, published by the TZL Collective.

First, for those who are unfamiliar, zines are self-published booklets that can be about anything— from garlic recipe zines made of garlic paper to comic zines about socialism in Canada. The term “zine” comes from fanzine and fan magazine, rooted in sci-fi fanzines, and made popular with the rise of punk in the 1970s, queercore in the 1980s, and the feminist punk movement well into the 90s (Bikini Kill! and riot grrrl). Traditionally, zines were a way for niche communities to stay connected and share information that wasn’t picked up by mainstream media.

It may seem obvious, but zines are still being made! People still have things they are concerned about and excited about; marginalized communities are still left out of mainstream publication and censored online; communities of like-minded individuals still want to communicate with each other to share knowledge, ideas, and wisdom in a meaningful way; people still want to connect with each other, with people who have had similar experiences, and with people who have had different experiences —  you get the idea.

The beauty of zines is that anyone can make them— there are no rules. Zines do not have to be perfect, and they do not have to be pretty. Often, master copies are made by cutting and pasting images and texts by hand, mixing print media and handwriting, which are then folded in proper page order, photocopied, refolded, and hand bound or stapled. They are filled with uncensored personal experiences and perspectives and therefore differ from mainstream publication. They allow diverse communities to share their experiences, knowledge, and wisdom.

You may be wondering, how does an independent, volunteer-run zine library keep track of all these wonderful zines and share them with the public?

While we all highly valued the old paper and pencil method of record keeping, at well over 3600 zines (and growing rapidly with weekly donations!) and 200 members (also rapidly growing!) the method had become untenable. The Toronto Zine Library now has an online public access catalogue (OPAC), a searchable online catalogue which you can check out here: https://www.torontozinelibrary.org/catalogue/opac/

Rotem managed and facilitated the library science side of this project, while Brandon supported the tech side of the project — and along the way we received support from the rest of the TZL’s lovely volunteers.

We decided that this beautiful collection would best serve the public if we could afford not only  public research and access to the catalogue but also a more streamlined user management and circulation system. In librarian lingo, this means using an integrated library system (ILS). An ILS is an umbrella term for library management systems that usually, at minimum, serve the desired functions of user management, circulation, and an OPAC (Online Public Access Catalogue). For our integrated library system (ILS), we used the open source software OpenBiblio. Open Source software enables small independent organizations like the TZL to function without the monetary constraints commercial software creates. The TZL runs on Open Source already, for example we use Linux at our circulation desk and office tools like LibreOffice to manage documents. However, adapting an existing library’s collections and operating history, managed partially on paper and partially in digital, is no simple task.

The first step to moving to an ILS was the server side setup. For this, we needed to setup a MySQL database and user for OpenBiblio to use and then install the software itself. Fortunately, OpenBiblio comes with good install instructions and the setup was straightforward. At this point, we wanted to begin converting our information from one system to another. However, each preexisting system had its own caveats.

First, the membership database was entirely paper based across binders that spanned all the years of the TZL’s operations (over a decade!). Additionally, OpenBiblio requires members to be associated with barcodes, since typically libraries scan cards as a means of user identification. Our member database had never kept track of its users this way, so the first feature we added to the OpenBiblio functionality — barcode generation!  We chose a simple format and made an automatic generator that would populate the barcode field in the membership form with a unique barcode. Finally, because we’d be storing user information and moving circulation to a web based platform, we needed enhanced security. Since login information over an unsecure channel can be easily “sniffed”, we needed to ensure our admin logins were secure! So we used the Let’s Encrypt Free SSL/TLS certificate service and moved the entire TZL website to Hypertext Transfer Protocol Secure (HTTPS). This means all of our communications to the OpenBiblio system, and the server in general, were now encrypted and secure! At this point, we were able to move from heavy binders to a sustainable and secure digital database thanks to the hard work of volunteer zine librarians who transferred membership information manually. We can now better track individual copies of zines and run circulation services through our library computer and remotely.

Second, we had been cataloguing the zines using a small custom made app and database for years. It was mostly textual and in a straightforward format that captured the organization of the catalogue. However, OpenBiblio uses the MARC 21 format internally. MARC 21 is a format for machine-readable bibliographic information developed by the Library of Congress. On one hand, this system codifies the storage of bibliographic information and is used broadly in the library community. On the other hand, the system encodes certain assumptions about the medium being catalogued and these assumptions are not necessarily commensurate with zines and zine culture. The first step to this process was understanding the structure of the database in use and getting the preexisting information out in a usable format. To facilitate this we used the SQLite DB Explorer to dump the entire database out into a tab delimited text file. The next step was getting the information into a format for OpenBiblio, this means MARC data, since, fortunately, OpenBiblio has a MARC data importer. To do this we used MARCEdit, a MARC editing and authoring tool made by Terry Reese, a librarian at The Ohio State University. In MARCEdit we were able to map the fields in our custom database to MARC fields we thought would serve them well. For example, we mapped genre to 650$a (650 => Subject Added Entry-Topical Term, $a => Topical term or geographic name entry element), and zine format to 300$b (300 => Physical Description, $b => Other physical details). At this point we were able to export the database as MARC and import it into OpenBiblio. The one caveat here is that OpenBiblio requires call numbers, which the TZL does not use.  To handle this, we were able to simply remove the requirement by commenting out a few lines of code (a hack, yes, but it works!). The very last step is to create an actual copy entry for each item imported, since the bibliographic information and the copies are separate. This is a straightforward process outlined on the OpenBiblio website and requires a little bit of SQL (fortunately copy/paste will do here). Now we had 3400+ entries and a fully functioning OPAC and circulation system!

Third, we wanted to ensure that the medium of zines was captured as best as possible online so our members could do their research and see what they were getting in to. We decided early on that, since OpenBiblio did not already have the feature, that we needed pictures! This led to the second addition to the OpenBiblio feature set. The first task was to understand the inner working of OpenBiblio — we needed to go under the hood for this one! Fortunately, a past contributor had made a patch for an earlier version of this feature. Using this, decoding the inner workings became much more straightforward and made the transition from OpenBiblio user to OpenBiblio developer much more easy. Since it was for an earlier version and didn’t quite have all the features we wanted, we still had our work cut out! This involved several steps: using an experimental MARC field in the 900s to store the image location; adding support to render the image in the bibliographic searches and individual entries; and adding support to upload the image using some fancy jQuery ajax client-side and a dollop of php server-side; and finally building out a thumbnail system so the entire thing was efficient. This year, we held a fundraiser to raise money for a scanner for the library (and for other projects), and since then, we have started the process of scanning zine covers.

All these adjustments and the shift to the new library software in general has improved the way we are able to catalogue zines and the accessibility of the collection. Cataloguing zines is difficult because zine librarians have to choose one out of several categories to organize zines into— but we desperately want to choose multiple. For the TZL, these categories traditionally include: Perzine, Fanzine, Litzine, Humour, Culture, Miscellaneous, Gender/Queer, Politics, Comics, Art (and many subcategories to choose from). Since zines can often fit into multiple categories, we read each zine carefully and cautiously choose what we hope will be its best home. Now we can also add comprehensive keywords to make the catalogue more accessible and showcase how diverse the collection is.

The other great thing about DIY library software is we can avoid the outdated vocabulary, racism, sexism, and other problematic bias that is built into other standard  library taxonomies such as Library of Congress Classification and Dewey. As mentioned, we also have the ability to alter MARC fields in OpenBiblio to match the needs of zine library taxonomies, which are still a work in progress (for us) to be honest. The other great thing about DIY library software is that we can incorporate feedback from zinesters and library visitors to improve the catalogue. For example, we can update tags to reflect current cultural language, from self-determination within marginalized communities to vocabulary within niche communities that we just do not have expertise on.

Limiting zines to one category might prevent someone from stumbling across a zine that they might be searching for (or not know they needed), maybe for research, interest, or other personal reasons. For example, a zine maker’s personal story of surviving a traumatic experience that deals with mental health struggles might be narrated in comic medium and catalogued in the Comics section— but it could just as easily have been shelved in Perzines (personal zines), or maybe Gender/Sexuality. As a result, someone going through a difficult experience and searching for zines relating to trauma and depression, might miss out on this narrative if they only search the Perzine section. Our hope is that by adding keywords to all zines, we can provide library visitors and staff with better information to locate and discover the right zines. The example scenario above (Comics vs. Perzines etc.) can be avoided because zines from any section can now be linked to terms such as: mental health, trauma, survival, grief, self care, personal stories, body positivity, feminism, diary, and so on — which makes us zine librarians very happy.

Also, anyone can now search the collection from their homes or anywhere else with wifi. Since, regrettably, the TZL’s physical library space is not as accessible as we would like (second floor, no elevator), the ability to search the catalogue remotely enables more people to see the scope of the collection and engage with zine resources. For example, a wheelchair user can now email us, ask us to pull zines from our collection that they have found in our online catalogue, and we can then deliver these zines to them on the more accessible main floor of the building.

For more information about the Toronto Zine Library: https://www.torontozinelibrary.org/

Please contact the TZL if you have suggestions for improving community-specific or intersectional keywords, or other ways to improve the language in the catalogue: torontozinelibrary@gmail.com

Below is a list of zines I prepared for the fundraiser to showcase catalogue records with zine covers and keywords added, to show the potential of what the catalogue can grow to look like in the future.

For more information about the Toronto Zine Library: https://www.torontozinelibrary.org/

Please contact me if you have concerns or suggestions regarding anything written about in this post.

 

 

 

 

 

Toronto Zine Library Fundraiser at Glad Day Bookstore

 

Please share this info and support DIY zine culture in Toronto 🖤

The Toronto Zine Library is hosting an event to raise money for a new printer and scanner for the library, and to help support future library operations. The library would like to provide accessible printing/copy methods for zine makers. Also, the scanner will support a special project that we have been working on (to be revealed the night of the fundraiser!)

The fundraiser will take place Saturday, August 4th at Glad Day Bookstore from 6-9pm. There will be live music, guest artists, a raffle, and a station where you can make zines!

Libraries like the Toronto Zine Library are far too rare, and much needed. The TZL is a much loved special place for everyone who has volunteered and visited, and we want to keep it running. The collection holds zines made by creators from all around the world speaking from diverse experiences and knowledge. The TZL is a place that aims to accept everyone and help support marginalized creators.

(Let me know if you would like a copy of this image to share elsewhere)

Thank you!

Grotesque Dollhouse: A Close Reading of Julie Doucet’s My New York Diary

The following post is based on a course assignment from a few years ago that offered me the opportunity to closely read and trace a few pages from Julie Doucet’s My New York Diary, one of my favorite autobiographical comics. My New York Diary is also an early contemporary feminist classic of graphic autobiography. I read the second printing of the softcover published by Drawn and Quarterly in 2011.  The work chronicles Doucet’s six months living in New York, beginning as an idealistic 17-year-old artist after graduating from an all-girls’ school in Canada. Heartbreaking, hilarious, and often relatable complications ensue, including boyfriend woes, addiction battles, physical and mental health struggles, and grave disillusionment with the art world.

I miss studying comics.

After rereading sections of Julie Doucet’s My New York Diary I became aware that Doucet’s graphic narrative reminded me of the voyeuristic act of peering into a dollhouse. Typically, each page in My New York Diary is made of three rows of panels that parallel the levels of a dollhouse, the characters are doll-like with disproportionate and “cute” physical features, and the layout of the page exposes an open wall for the audience to gaze inside the scene. However, unlike a child’s dollhouse Doucet’s dollhouse engages with the grotesque, including: garbage—although she somehow makes garbage look cute, dirty and cracked walls, insects that corrupt each room, leaking body fluids, and objects that move eerily between panels. Doucet’s characters, which look like beat-up dolls with black eyes and bruises, also contribute to the uncanny dollhouse aesthetic.  I felt unnerved reading many of Doucet’s brutally honest self-critical scenes. Maybe because they defamiliarize my childhood memories of playing with dollhouses while inventing more naïve, although perhaps not more strange, narratives.

Kidkraft’s 18″ Dollhouse

Page five of Julie Doucet’s story “My New York Diary” introduces several themes that reveal Doucet’s immaturity as a younger artist, exposing her idealistic fantasy of love and the creative life of an artist in New York. The cartoon Doucet on this page is naïve and optimistic. She is a marionette-like figure not yet able to critique her boyfriend or her decisions; she embraces her boyfriend in the chaos of the apartment and exclaims, “Oh Chéri, we will be so happy.” The author might write this with heavy cynicism, but the character in the panel seems genuinely happy.  I chose to examine this page in contrast to page fifty-two because the character Julie changes drastically between these two pages, as does the story’s tone. Doucet’s character gains autonomy and the author finally speaks through her character instead of manipulating her like a puppeteer. On page five the cartoon Doucet is alienated from the narrator Doucet while on page fifty-two the narrator and the cartoon character merge and the character is self-aware (and aware of the audience).

In most panels on page five Doucet’s character smiles gleefully at her boyfriend’s messy apartment, and she stares entranced at her boyfriend. Both characters act ecstatic, excited about the space they believe will be conducive to creativity and romance. However, because the space is visually unstable, I read both characters’ optimism as unreliable. The space foreshadows conflict. Doucet’s uncanny dolls, such as the mouse with the superman cape, shift unsettlingly between panels and the walls and floors shift between panels as well.

Doucet draws her younger self and her boyfriend as oversized dolls with large heads and unblinking large manic eyes. They are also children playing dress up, acting out their roles among the toys and chaotic props of the world of the apartment. Doucet’s New York is a city of discarded objects where even garbage becomes “cute”, thrown like abandoned play toys into heaps along the sidewalks; the jagged edges of tin cans become more curved. Many of Doucet’s characters are overgrown children carelessly discarding their playthings and garbage, but they are also drawn to look like grotesque dolls and they are also often discarded. On page four of the same story the backwards-L-shaped bottom panel shows a cute girl wearing a backpack and polka dot dress. Her eyes appear to be hollow or gouged out and she looks lost and distressed and walks with her arms at her sides like an automaton. She looks like a discarded doll.

In the top left corner of page five Doucet’s boyfriend twists his head around completely in an unnatural toy-like movement while walking up the stairway. Reading this gave me the impression that his character is fake or disingenuous. Doucet draws herself with spaghetti-like hair that fits into the chaotic, garbage-ridden aesthetic of the apartment and her New York. Doucet blends in and becomes lost in the scenery. The cans in the hallway, the ominous shadows, and dirt on the walls in the first panel foreshadow the messiness of the apartment and the instability of the relationship, exposing the younger Doucet’s idealistic fantasy of New York. Doucet and her boyfriend move erratically, almost jerkily, from panel to panel, like stop-motion animation figures. They hug in the second last panel on page five and suddenly in the last panel her boyfriend dramatically throws himself into a swing-dance-like move, his arm extended toward the refrigerator.

The subtly shifting toys and walls and the disorienting tilt of the floor create an atmosphere filled with anxiety and instability. The shifting unreliable objects offer a critique of consumerist culture as well—since the objects and possessions become threatening and unreliable.

I associate Doucet’s graphic narrative to the voyeuristic glimpse into an uncanny dollhouse, but I also think about how the process of paneling and drawing comics itself parallels the childhood act of playing with dolls by placing them in various positions and making them speak. Although this might play into the stereotype of the cartoonist as the social outcast alienated with their collectables and imagination, artists like Doucet can distort and manipulate the dollhouse and dolls and force them to work against problematic social norms. For example, Doucet defamiliarizes the social conventions and the “nuclear family” ideology attached to the original mass-produced plastic dollhouses.

The panoramic center panel on page five shows Doucet’s character smiling, standing next to the smiling mouse doll in a cape. The character Julie is encompassed in her boyfriend’s belongings and becomes another doll he has collected. This panel is the establishing shot for the world of the apartment where the character Julie will isolate herself from her new city. Doucet’s character is empowered by her creativity, but otherwise she is afraid to leave the apartment. The reader views the panel from the powerful perspective of the puppeteer while Doucet’s character is the puppet doomed to repeat Doucet’s behavior and experiences. However, on page fifty-two the character Julie meets the reader’s gaze, altering the power dynamics and uncanny feel of the earlier page.

Page fifty-two establishes Julie the character is more autonomous and self-reflective than in earlier stories. Doucet draws the title of page fifty-two, “My New York Diary”, studded with jewel-like decorations, alluding to the glitzy façade of theatre productions or glamorous fantasies of fame and fortune. Here Doucet might be making fun of her earlier fantasy of New York’s romance. The first page I looked at for this post begins in Spring, season of hope and rejuvenation, while the second page I chose takes place in the desolation of winter, wrought with isolation, hibernation, and somber self-reflection, befitting Julie’s disillusionment.

On page fifty-two Julie speaks in split speech balloons that suggest a conflicted internal dialogue. The split speech balloons also reveal her ability to be self-critical and investigate her potentially conflicted feelings. She is now aware of an audience and has become disillusioned with her earlier fantasy of New York (page five). Page fifty-two lacks the imposition of narrative voiceover and finally Doucet the author merges with Julie and is able to speak through her. Although I could read the same page as Julie speaking with another character in the room, she is still more powerful and self-reflective than on page five where she hardly speaks. On page fifty-two the reader is less powerful because Julie is able to meet their gaze, even if she does not necessarily break the third wall. The character is no longer submerged in the naive fantasy of her new life in New York. The reader initially views Julie on page fifty-two from the perspective of a camera angled down from above, like from the vantage of a puppeteer, however the page ends with the reader meeting Julie’s gaze and her character is empowered.

The atmosphere on page fifty-two is less cluttered than page five and hints at Julie’s contentedness and clarity, but the walls and floors are still dirty and cracked and the shifting floors and walls are more noticeable without her boyfriend’s clutter, so the environment is still unstable. Julie’s shifting posture also contributes to the page’s visual tension. Initially her cartoon self sits in the proper posture of the Victorian fantasy of the sophisticated young woman— upright, elegant, with her hands crossed over her lap. However, as she talks about her ex-boyfriend’s latest immature escapades she becomes angry and slouches, her legs split apart in a grotesque “masculine” position.  Although she is no longer lost in the chaos of her boyfriend’s apartment she is still surrounded by objects and furniture that do not belong to her.  Only her cat, stripped of its facial features, becomes a reliable object. she is also more free to travel and move on because she carries few possessions.

On both pages the small gutters create more crowded-looking panels. One moment in the story jerks ungracefully into the next as each busy panel fragments the narrative and forces the reader to linger on the page. The cluttered panels and sliding landscapes offer an anxious and chaotic environment and a challenging reading experience. Each page contains almost too much to look at so that the pages disorient the reader like the lights and visual cues in a casino. In this way Doucet uses visual tension to recreate her physical and emotional experience of New York.

My body responded to Doucet’s visual narration. Sometimes as I read I felt tense and nervous, but other times I genuinely laughed out loud. Doucet’s characters pop out of the black backgrounds with the erratic jumpiness of marionettes or the dolls that would come alive in a child’s nightmare of a dollhouse. Doucet’s characters are more object-like than any other graphic narrative I have read so far and I found it hard to be selective while tracing these two pages because it seems like the objects are just as important in Doucet’s visual narration as the people. After a few close readings of this work and after tracing the two pages discussed in this post (as part of the assignment), I believe that part of the power of Doucet’s artwork is her ability to disturb and provoke the reader through stories offering a voyeuristic glimpse into her uncanny dollhouse and the memories it explores. Doucet retells her stories through visual and visceral narration that recreates both physical and emotional experiences, allowing and forcing the reader to engage more intimately with the narrative.

Adventures in Printing

Cover illustration from the beautiful graphic novel, Back and Forth, told in linocut illustrations, made by Toronto artist Marta Chudolinska

Recently, I decided to take a break from hand drawing and learn how to create block prints, mostly using the linocut printing technique, which is a type of relief printing.

Having taken a rare books course last year in the beautiful Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library at the University of Toronto, I was somewhat familiar with the process of relief printing, but I wanted firsthand experience, and I was curious to see how the drawing process translates into print images. Well, I was quick to learn that printmaking is an incredibly labor-intensive and frustrating learning process of trial and error— but it is also incredibly satisfying and rewarding. While carving linocuts, I was forced to map out my drawings beforehand using pen on the block, simplifying my images (which is something I almost never do), or else the detail can obscure the image of the final print; this is true especially if you are a beginner and opt to use cheaper tools and blocks with a more malleable but less durable surface.

Lino blocks are less easy to carve and cut than thicker softer rubbers, however, these lino blocks will last longer and survive multiple printing sessions over time. Sadly, these durable lino blocks are more likely to lead to actual “linocuts” 😦 Behold this heavily bandaged blogger:

For those of you reading this post who are beginner print-makers or do not know much about printing,  here is a brief overview of 3 different illustration printing processes, traditionally used in making artist books, or what are now considered rare books. I will mostly focus on relief printing.

**Much of this blog post is compiled from course notes and power point slides**

Three main illustration processes

1. Relief Printing:  woodcuts, wood engravings—raised printing methods
2. Intaglio Printing: metal engravings, such as copper engravings—engraved printing methods
3. Planographic Printing: flat processes such as lithography, which rely on chemical properties (that oil will not mix with water)

Note: Silkscreen might not be considered a planographic process because the pigment is pushed though a screen, but it is a very similar process to lithography.

Early woodcut: William Caxton’s The Game of Chesse, c1474

Relief printing: This printing is done from a raised surface, much like type was used in the printing press. Traditionally, this process included letterpress, wood engravings, and woodcuts. During this process, ink is applied on the raised surface, and then the paper is pressed down on it, or the block is pressed into the paper in the case of smaller blocks; in the case of my block printing, I applied the ink by hand with a small roller. The ideal outcome is that only the surface prints, although if ink is over-applied this might lead to some unexpected but aesthetically pleasing results. Traditionally, pear was the commonest wood used, and the flat plank side of a piece of wood was cut with the grain using knives and gouges; the area cut away would be lighter, so the raised lines would be darker, thick, and angular. Achieving detail can be very challenging in relief printing, such as cross hatching, however error can be corrected by gluing on pieces of wood and re-carving. Initially, illustrations would be inked by hand with paper laid on (the way I do it now), but then later a printing press was used, in addition to type (letter blocks) which could be printed then at the same time as the illustration. Albrecht Dürer is a well known  illustrator from the 16th century who miraculously developed awe-inducing fine relief print lines, but then copper engravings quickly became popularized. In the 18th century woodcutting had a revival thanks to the influence of Japanese woodcut illustrations, but blocks are more fragile than other printing techniques, and sadly do not last, so other printing techniques are much more common.

Rhinoceros 1515 woodcut print by Albrecht Dürer

Wood engraving was also a popular form of relief printing, made popular by Thomas Bewick (1753-1828) in England. During this process, wood blocks were prepared with a solution of zinc white in gum arabic, onto which the artist drew their design, or else a drawing could be pasted on the block, much like how now many images can be ironed onto blocks to be engraved. Designs are then cut into the wood block, at the grain end, with a steel graver so that they lie below type height—which results in the design being made of the white lines that the ink does not pick up, as opposed to woodcuts which pick up the design in black ink lines above the type height. Sections of the block could also be painted or washed over with ink to be toned, for more depth or detail. Boxwood was most often used for the process of wood engraving. Blocks that were glued and then bolted together made it possible for newspaper to print full-page illustrations in the 1840’s, and then by the 1860s photographs could be printed right onto blocks to be engraved. Wood engraving was popular until the end of the 19th century, when photo-mechanical processes took over.

Intaglio printing: This type of printing process uses an engraved or incised surface, and can lead to very detailed results. Traditionally, this process  included metal engravings, such as copperplate engravings, and etchings.  Tools are used to cut grooves in the surface of a plate, these grooves are then filled with ink, the rest of the plate is wiped clean, and then the plate is put through a rolling press. Using a great deal of pressure, in this way the paper is forced into the inked grooves during the printing process.

Intaglio cont’d:

In drypoint engraving, the metal plate is first coated with a ground onto which the design is scratched with a needle, and then the ground is washed off; the design is cut onto the surface of a copper or zinc plate with a diamond or steel point. The design  is scratched directly onto the plate using a burin (engraving tool), which leaves a dark burr of metal, and during this process the plate rests on a rounded cushion filled with sand. The plate is warmed, and then ink is applied to the surface of the plate and wiped off, leaving the lines of the design. These lines are then deepened, but the burr (the raised metal left on each side of the cuts) is not removed, although the burr can come off during the process of engraving. Thanks to this burr, a drypoint image can have softer outlines. The plate is then inked, and wiped with a cloth and the palm of the hand. Then, with the paper placed on top, the plate is passed through a rolling press, where excessive pressure can be applied.

Hand-coloured etching from William Blake’s Jerusalem (plate 51), 1820

Etching is another intaglio process. In etching, chemicals bite into a metal plate to create an image. Traditionally, a clean polished copper or zinc plate is warmed and covered with ground, which can be wax, asphalt and hartshorn), and the smoked over with a candle, which will colour it black. A tracing of  the design is placed over the ground plate and pressed down onto it, and then a rounded needle removes the ground from the lined of the drawing. Once this design is carved out using the needle, the edge and back of plate are covered with acid-resistant varnish, and the plate is immersed in an acid solution which “bites” the lines, repeatedly until the desired depth is reached. Lines that have reached the correct depth can be “stopped out” with varnish to prevent further deepened etching. Artist William Blake hand-coloured his etchings to beautiful effect (Songs of Innocence and Experience, 1789), and the artist Rembrandt left ink on the plate, which produced darker prints.

Other forms of intaglio printing include:

Aquatints were first used in the 1750s, notably used by Francisco Goya (1746-1828), who combined etching with aquatint.

Mezzotints, which were quite possibly invented by Ludwig von Siegen in 1642, reproduced tones as well as lines, and were often used in reproductions of portraiture works.

Aquatint: Goya’s The Giant (1818)

Mezzotint with drypoint: Pandemonium, 1824, from John Milton’s Paradise Lost

Planographic printing: This type of printing is done from  a flat surface, as opposed to a raised surface (such as relief) or engraved/incised surface (such as intaglio). Traditionally, lithography and offset lithography  are planographic  processes. These processes are based on chemical properties—primarily, that oil does not mix with water.

Planographic printing, first used by Aloysius Senefelder in 1796, was first called “lithography” in 1804, and by early 19th century it had spread throughout Europe. Senefelder, who first drew on limestone, began by using acid to raise the text, but later realized that he did not need to raise the printing surface; by drawing with a grease-based ink and wetting the limestone, he discovered that only the greasy ink printed on the paper. In 1797 Senefelder built the first lithographic press, and  in 1798  lithographic transfers, which used a print to create a new lithographic stone, were used, and  in 1799 crayons were used for drawing on stones. In 1837, Engelmann patented chromolithography (colour lithography), which was the most common method of creating colour illustrations in the 19th century. Now modern methods use photochemical reproduction for an image, with zinc or aluminum plates in rotary presses.

Lithograph: Desire by Edvard Munch, 1898

My printmaking tools:

A few finished linocuts:

Artists’ Books

Artists’ Books

There are many conflicting opinions as to what an artists’ book should be. The term “artists’ books” first appeared around 1973 but books that could later be placed within this category began to appear in the 1960’s and 70’s along with social and political activism and the rise of conceptual art (p.13, Klima). Some artists produced books in an attempt to skirt the gallery/museum system to reach a larger number of people (p.25, Burkhart). They represented the “democratization of art object” and fine art commodity (p.47, Klima). In the beginning of the 1960’s, the editions, multiples, and publications of fluxus artists such as Marcel Duchamp can also be considered artists’ books, but they also have their origins in 20^th century modernism, as well as the works of futurists, dadas, and surrealists, (p. 17, Bleus).

Artists’ books differ from the livre d’artiste of the 20^th century, for example, books made by Picasso, Ernst, and Matisse, because they are not catalogues of an artist’s work, do not contain allusions to an artist’s other works, and the livre d’artiste that were popular in the 20th century also contained mostly original artwork. They are standalone narratives that play with the book form and history, for example the relationship between text and image.

Artists’ books tend to fall into one of two conceptual frameworks: first, books with unlimited multiple editions, rejecting finely crafted unique objects; these are “largely the production of commercial print and reproduction technology” (p.17, Klima). Within this framework, the artists’ book should make art and important ideas more accessible to a wider array of people, challenging limiting and capitalistic conventions of the traditional book. The second framework is that artists’ book should be a unique art object that provokes an emotional response and deeper engagement with the form. Artist’s might have creative control over small print runs, subverting historical norms of the book format and process of publishing.

The first conceptual framework might critique the artists’ book as a precious object only accessible to a limited number of people outside of the art world, and critique the ideology of the auratic quality of “authenticity” or rareness (p.66, Klima), and the latter might critique the machine-like emotionless quality of these mass-produced items, though it seems as though neither framework aims to be elitist. Artists’ books may be mass-produced political and cultural works, or handmade stories like zines which aim to be widely distributed and shared; zines are often donated with the knowledge that they will potentially be digitized and reproduced.

One example of an artists’ book is Out of the Sky: Remembering 911 by Werner Pfeiffer. Out of the Sky was produced in an edition of 52 copies in 2006 on the fifth anniversary of the attacks. Pfeiffer is a German-American artist, born in 1937. He spent his childhood in Nazi Germany, which exposed him to censorship and book burnings, and also the ability of books and writing “to spread hatred and perpetuate violence and genocide” (Mattoon). After immigrating to the United States in 1961, Pfeiffer pursued a career in design and art direction, and became an art professor at Pratt Institute and director of the Pratt Adlib Press in 1969. There are only 52 copies of Out of the Sky, and it seems to only be available in art galleries and libraries.

Once Out of the Sky is built, the tower made of woodcut illustrations looms above you at over 5-feet-tall (on a table); if you look at the illustrations closely you will see grotesque black and white compositions of bodies and limbs intertwined; the tower also includes newspaper script at the top with names of victims. The book is contained in a large grey box that looks almost like a tombstone, and along with the paper material for building the tower, there is a large book almost like a chapbook which contains instructions for assembly and a first person narrative that memorializes 911 as well as acts as a political response to the violence and demonization of those critical of US politics post-911; the text is presented in narrow columns centered on the page, similar to the columns of a newspaper article.

There was a strange tension in piecing this book together because it was meant to serve as a memorial, but at the same time, as you assemble the book, it feels like playing a reverse game of Jenga; it was also awkward to set up this piece in the library, since there were many other patrons around quietly researching. Pfeiffer states in his artists’ book Endangered Species, “Our personal daily ‘fix’ of electronic news/entertainment documents is an experience of facts without awareness of space, distance, or time.” After reading this, I could better understand how this book is meant to challenge the way we interact with books and other news sources, forcing a more memorable experience with the medium. Pfeiffer seems to be advocating for the importance of the materiality of the book, and the powerful sensory experience of interacting with the form and content of a book.

A second example of an artists’ book— that I think is incredibly charming and also combats the stigma that reduces artists’ books to inaccessible elitist art objects— is a children’s magazine and scrapbook from Matanzas, Cuba (east of Havana), a product of Ediciones Vigia (which translates to Watchtower editions, named after Matanza’s location in Plaza de la Vigía, Watchtower Square). Vigia is an independent publishing house founded in the 1970’s (during the repressive cultural period). At Vigia, books are created by artists who volunteer with the press, and these particular books were made in collaboration with children and published by Alfredo Zaldivar, a a Cuban poet who also co-founded the press. There are a maximum of 200 issues of each Vigia book published (3 issues a year), all handmade, so they include the same textual material but differ in artistic details. These particular issues are built around the subject of puppet theatres or marionettes, and one of the issues speaks about the children’s play “the Ibeyis and the Devil”, where two twins, the sons of the orishas (or minor gods) Chango and Oshun, overcome the Devil and restore peace in the countryside where they live by returning the joy and growth of the mountain.

Vigia publishes handmade books that combine art, movable parts, and literature, using repurposed material such as paper from the local butcher, yarn, sand, fabric, leaves, dried flowers and botanicals, and tin foil, and dyed with various techniques including the use of coffee. Vigia also fabricated a brownish stock paper called “bagasse” from sugarcane because of the lack of access to printing material; stenciling techniques were developed for imaging and lettering, and most everything is hand coloured. The children’s magazines I looked at are stapled and bound together with string, and made of waste paper, industrial residue, natural elements, and textile components (Osborne); they are mimeographed, hand-coloured, and signed by authors. When the press began they only had one old typewriter and an ancient mimeograph machine. Now better known authors such as Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Jorge Luis Borges have become involved with the press, and whereas the books used to sell for 1 dollar, now they sell for apx. 25 dollars.

They are available to purchase at their store and studio in Matanzas, and they are available to view in libraries and art galleries around the world. Vigia books also include ephemera, such as pockets filled with puzzle pieces, beaded necklaces, and tags (KC Studio). You can see flaws in the books, which is, I think, part of what makes them so beautiful and gives them the engaging and mysterious quality of intimate scrapbooks. These issues are all in Spanish, so it would require translation and more time with the material to better engage with the books, but I could still appreciate the artwork and the philosophy behind Vigia press. These books demonstrate how artists’ books can preserve cultural traditions, such as folklore and storytelling, as well as allow artists, no matter what their economic background, to share their stories and work as a community to create art.

Pat Allingham’s The Shrunken Head, at the Osborne Collection of Early Children’s Books

Despite the challenges of storage, display, the strain on budget, and having to accommodate additional demands regarding books that are donated, I would advocate for these works in special library collections. There is a market for them because they are interesting narratives and visually stunning to exhibit, which could bring researchers and diverse communities to libraries, and their metacommentary on the codex format is a wonderful part of a library’s special collection. Another benefit of having artists’ books in a library is that the art and narrative can be preserved and made securely available to readers; artists’ books can perhaps be digitized, and the metadata can be collected, so it may reach wider audiences over time, and that way local histories can also be collected and preserved.

Works Cited and Consulted

Allingham, Pat. The Shrunken Head. Stayner, Ont.: Allingham Mazaro, 1985. Print.

Behar, Ruth. “Works in Handmade Cuban Books.” Ruth Behar. 2015. Web. 21. Nov. 2016. http://www.ruthbehar.com/HandmadeBooks.htm

Bleus, Guy. Art Is Books. Hasselt [Belgium: Provinciale Centrale Openbare Bibliotheek, 1991. Print.

Burkhart, Anne. “Articulate Activism: Artists’ Books Take Issues.” Art Education, vol. 60, no. 1, 2007 25–32. http://www.jstor.org/stable/27696189.

Cornell University. “Werner Pfeiffer: Book-objects and Artist Books.” Cornell University Library Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections. 2010. Web. 20 Nov. 2016. http://rmc.library.cornell.edu/wernerpfeiffer/about.html

Kirsch, Elizabeth. “Ediciones Vigia: Handmade Cuban Books.” KC Studio. 1 Sept. 2016. Web. 23 Nov. 2016. “http://kcstudio.org/ediciones-vigia-handmade-cuban-books/

Klima, Stefan. Artists Books: A Critical Survey of the Literature. New York: Granary Books, 1998. Print.

Mattoon, Nancy. “The bombshell book art of Werner Pfeiffer.” Booktryst. 15 Nov. 2010. Web. 23 Nov. 2016. http://www.booktryst.com/2010/11/bombshell-book-art-of-werner-pfeiffer.html

Melhorn-Boe, Lise. What Are Little Girls/boys Made Of?Toronto: Transformer Press, 1989. Print.

Nochi, Kim. “Ediciones Vigía: An Introduction.” University of Missouri Museum of Art and Archaeology,11 Nov. 2014. Web. 24 Nov. 2016. http://vigia.missouri.edu/intro-essays/ediciones-intro.shtml

Pfeiffer, Werner. Out of the Sky: Remembering 911. Red Hook, NY: Pear Whistle Press, 2006. Print.

Pfeiffer, Werner, and Philip Roth. Werner Pfeiffer: Endangered Species. Ostfildern: Cantz, 1994. Print.

Zaldivar, Alfredo, eds. Barquitos del San Juan : la revista de los niños. Vigia: Matanzas, Cuba, 1985. Print.

Cartoonists of Color Database

Another great resource promoting diversity in comics, maintained by cartoonist MariNaomi as a way to spotlight marginalized comics creators.

http://cartoonistsofcolor.com/

MariNaomi’s website:

http://marinaomi.com/