Hope these “half-frame” shots brighten your Monday!
Photos by: fieldguided/anabela
Hope these “half-frame” shots brighten your Monday!
Photos by: fieldguided/anabela
Some of our readers may remember our post a few weeks back about the Nov 15 release Jonathan Safran Foer (by way of Bruno Schulz) book Tree of Codes. We got a chance to get the ear of publisher Visual Editions‘ Anna Gerber & Britt Iversen and ask them a few questions.
Owen Troy: Congrats on your edition of Tristam Shandy. You’ve not only reproduced Sterne’s formal experiments but layered on some new ones. Can you tell us a little bit about the making of this edition, and maybe where it sits relative to the history of printings of the book?
Visual Editions: We haven’t so much layered new experiments, more than anything, we’ve enhanced the elements that were already there (the missing chapter is now perforated pages) and introduced entirely new ones (a shut door is now a folded page). The book is so playful, so irreverent and we thought it was a shame that the “classics” editions didn’t do anything to help readers see and feel that playfulness. The current editions seem to be more about printing onto cheap paper, in as few pages as possible, rather than trying to get anything close to getting the book’s spirit across. When we briefed APFEL (the design studio we worked with on the book) that’s just what we said: make this book relevant again because that’s what it and its audiences deserves, and be sure you have fun doing it.
OT: We’re really excited about Tree of Codes. We heard Jonathan Safran Foer’s account of how it came to pass that he’d be doing a book for Visual Editions but we’d love to your side of the initial contact?
VE: We’re really excited about it, too. We wrote Jonathan a sort of “love letter”. We had just started talking about the idea for Visual Editions and thought: Jonathan Safran Foer explores this kind of writing better than any other contemporary writer. So we emailed him, told him what we had in mind for VE and said something like “while we can’t offer you money, there are plenty of other things we can offer you.” We signed a two book deal with him shortly after.
OT: And then when he reached the conclusion that he wanted a book where each page was individually diecut, did you agree to it in advance of finding a printer capable of producing it? Was there ever a worry that it mightn’t be possible?
VE: Yes and yes. We made initial contact with the printers who produced Olafur Elliason’s House book [Your House], who said it was possible. But what they said was possible was very different to how we ended up having the book made. They said making something by hand in a very small quantity was possible. When we first started approaching printers with the view to mass produce the book, we literally got turned down by every single printer. They just kept saying that it wasn’t technically feasible. Die Keure in Belgium were the first printers who were up to the challenge, but there were even moments with them when they said the tests weren’t working. We just kept saying, we’ve got to find a way to make this work. And we did.
OT: You have on your website images of other visual innovations in the book form. Do you include these as a sort of primer into the tradition you will be creating books in? Or are you positioning VE as a sort of nexus of a community larger than just the books it publishes?
VE: That’s an interesting question. The images of other books are other examples of what we’re calling “visual writing”. Visual writing is the starting point for our press: we’re only setting out to publish books that are as visually engaging as the stories they tell. And the idea to include other images was to say, look, this has been done before, but never as the driving force behind a publisher. We also think it’s the right time, in terms of how we read, how books are being made, how books are being thought of, to be publishing visually rich books that also tell wonderful stories (in sometimes unexpected ways).
OT: Do you think there’s a line between books that use visual or formal innovation and “artist’s books?” Or is this largely a distinction of production and marketing, where Tree of Codes might otherwise have been an edition of 100 and sold only at Printed Matter, but you’re able to bring to a wider readership?
VE: There’s a long and rich history of artists books which is a very separate area to what we’re setting out to do. One of our biggest ambitions is for our books to have a democratic reach. The main reason for this is because we think that more people read in a visual way. One of our visions, from the start, has been for our books to be read on the London Tube or the New York subway. Our books are produced to be durable and robust, not precious or niche. You’ll see that Tree of Codes, despite having holes on every page, feels very familiar as a book. It’s not only easy to handle, but most importantly, it’s easy to read. Which is just what we set out to do – for our books to be read, not just looked at.
[Note: This question sort of inspired an extended blog post from VE that expands upon this answer]
OT: Are there other books in the public domain or authors with an experimental bent that you have your eye on? Anything you want to share about upcoming releases?
VE: Our next book is a re-issue of the first ever “book in a box”: Composition No.1 by Marc Saporta and was first published in the early 1960s. Universal Everything, who mostly do screen-based interactive work, are designing the book for us, which we’re really really excited about. That’s set to come out next Spring.
Thanks for taking the time, Anna and Britt!
Original French edition of Composition No. 1, taken by Jill Walker
You may have already seen Dalton Ghetti’s amazing work, but it is absolutely worth seeing again. Ghetti, a Brazilian artist living in Bridgeport, Connecticut, has been carving the tips of graphite pencils into incredible, microscopic sculptures since he was a child. The artist uses only razor blades, sewing needles and excellent lighting (no magnification!) to create these intricate miniature masterpieces. A carpenter by trade, Ghetti carves the pencils in his spare time.
See more of Ghetti’s awe-inspiring work, as well as credits, after the jump.
Happy Monday All!
Really neat shots by 14-year-old photographer, bmenton (sorry, don’t have the photographers real name). There is something about photos of animals out in nature that gets me every time. Especially when they are of red foxes! Amazing!
bmenton flickr site here.
Animated gifs have come up for me three times this week. I know, the word might make you think of that chain email your aunt sent on back in ‘aught six. But no, not those: contemporary animated gifs.
2: The ZOMG
Gawker’s feminist(ish) blog Jezebel made a roundup of dozens of a newish sort of animated gifs as sort of “Like using emoticons, on steroids!”* which you use in a comments forum when you want to applaud someone:
*This is actually a reference to the static face reaction shots of myfacewhen but applies even more to these. The quote was introduced to me in a metafilter’s comment about the jezebel post by dreamyshade, who continues: “instead of having text abstractions stand in for our faces, they/we use other people’s faces to stand in for our faces when talking anonymously and virtually.”
3: The uh, professional
I made one, for a google ad for my day job at Speck. It featured these new super limited edition lowbrow creature art iPhone cases. But… it was 160k, much too large for a google ad. In an attempt to get it under their 50k ceiling, I saved a severely lossy dithered 16color version.
We didn’t end up using it because well, it is terrible. But! Strangely compelling, in a vhs reticulation Prince of Darkness nostalgia way. (If you concur, maybe post in the comments a nodding Ms. Jay or something).
Slate has an article on the Glorious GIF Rennaissance and Artfagcity calls 2010 The Year of the Animated GIF. Neither of these articles mention iOS’ continued nonsupport of Flash as a contributing factor to the renaissance, but I don’t doubt it: the first wave of animated gifs predated Flash and all but disappeared to livejournal and myspace for years once Flash hit the scenes.
And as for the retro cheestastic style of that first wave of animated gifs, if you’re still hungry for em, perhaps you’d like to watch that new MIA video? Frankly I couldn’t get through it…
There’s something about gold. I’m not sure if it’s the brightness of the color, the sheen of the metal, or the cheer that either brings. For this week’s Schmetsy, we give a shout out to all things golden.
This week’s Schmetsy pays tribute to a group that is somehow simultaneously terrifying and lovable: dinosaurs!
Ikea’s new cookbook, Hembakat är Bäst, has been all over in the blog world, for the past few days. But, if you haven’t had the pleasure of previewing it, it looks pretty rad. So far I haven’t been able to figure out how to purchase it (short of flying to Sweden, which while appealing, seems a bit absurd). The images are by Carl Kleiner and the styling was done by by Evelina Bratell.
I heard Jonathan Safran Foer speak with Vendela Vida (yep, co-editor of my favorite magazine ever) the other night as part of the excellent series City Arts and Lectures. After talking lucidly at length about his nonfiction book on the ethical implications of meat, Eating Animals, Vida asked him about a new book he had just finished called Tree of Codes. She showed him a copy (which is one of only ten dummies of the work extant) and he couldn’t contain his curiosity; he hadn’t actually seen it yet.
He was fascinated by his own work for this reason: he didn’t write the words to this book, and its form is rather interesting. London upstart/art publishers Visual Editions reportedly came to him with this offer: “we can’t pay you, but on the other hand we’ll make any sort of book you can imagine.” Their second book, after their ambitious edition of Tristram Shandy, will be his reaction to this challenge (“It’s gonna have to be really interesting to make that worth it”). All the words were written by Bruno Schultz, in his classic collection Street of Crocodiles. What Safran Foer brought to the work was, well, scissors.
Inspired by FBI, wartime or totalitarian redaction of documents, and by Schultz’ own erasure — Safran Foer called the work an “erased text” and told a little bit of the fate of Schultz, who was spared death for a time during the Holocaust by painting murals for a Nazi officer that were subsequently obscured, revealed, and smuggled from Poland by the Mossad — Safran Foer clipped away words revealing a new text: Street of Crocodiles. Visual Editions found a printer willing and able to make it: the published book, incredibly, will be diecut with a different die for every page.
He described the process as something he expected to be fun but was in fact very frustrating. But, one excellent quote from the evening was something like “as time goes on I have less and less faith that I can write something good, but I have more and more faith in accidents.” The juxtapositions and phrases he found in the process are all creative accidents: they surprised him and were not what he would have come to with his own devices.
Needless to say, I’m thrilled about the book. It’s right up my alley. I am fascinated by redaction and erasure. I like diecuts quite a bit. And, not only does it conjure memories of Street of Crocodiles (which is great, distinctly textured, both as a collection and as a somewhat different film by the Brothers Quay — the entirety of which is in two clips after the jump) but of experimental writings I have loved.
Burroughs used cut-ups. Oulipo writers have some games that start with found texts or otherwise artificially limiting word selection to force the creative accident. I dig artists books. And my favorite artist book ever, A Humument, is a similar project to this one. I first encountered A Humument when its pages were exhibited at the museum when I was a kid. I found an edition years later as if from a remembered dream, and have bought three or four copies since. Artist Tom Phillips painted and drew directly over pages of the Victorian novel A Human Document, leaving words joined by proximity or rivers of white space to make new prose-poems (and a sort-of narrative starring a hero named “toge” who can only appear by name when the original text speaks of togetherness) with the remaining words; for each subsequent edition he’s repainted some pages differently so that the overall text changes over time, eventually becoming a wholly different piece than the original.
More pics after the jump and the whole thing here.
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