Weight of the moment (2016). Inkjet and calligraphy ink on handmade mulberry paper, paper thread, miscanthus. 12 x 8 x 1.5′. Baylor University Library Special Collections.

either way (2017). Abaca and mulberry paper with persimmon juice, pencil, beeswax, paper thread and yarn. 9 x 5.75 x 0.5′ closed, 12′ wide open. Wesleyan Olin Library Special Collections.

This book can be read in either direction, referring to the different ways that cultures read: the binding is a Western codex but the title pages refer to Asian books that are read with the bound spine on the right side. It also asks the reader more overtly to impose and infer meaning through objects embedded in and emerging from the pages, as there is no other text beyond the covers. The covers themselves are made from layers of papers made from paper scraps that include fragments of the text of the oldest extant book printed with moveable type, Jikji, coated many times with a favorite Korean finish of persimmon juice.

Luminous and simple (2017). Inkjet prints on handmade milkweed paper with varied inclusions, sewn with paper thread. 14 x 8 x 0.5′ closed, 16.25′ wide open. 14 leaves. UC Riverside Rivera Library collection.

From plants, we can ply rope
we can weave cloth
and make lace

From caterpillars,
we can make an entire culture,
learn to read and write.
We can paint and clothe ourselves
all over again
We can build hierarchies
that chart a new demise.

With genes and time, a worm can fly in the sky
By our will, they can travel over sea and land

We could leave them to live and fly again
We can return to luminous strands
of silky stalks, done with their yearly labor

Monarchs have hatched and departed.
What remains grays, stands, grows brittle and thin
What remains blackens and falls

From these windfalls we could ply string,
weave cloth,
and make paper

We could live simply, encased in threads full of light
We could.

This is the start (2017). Ink, pencil, and onion skins on paper, gold thread. 4 x 4 x 0.75′ closed, 4 x 32.5′ open. Baylor University Library Special Collections.

Peculiar & Commonplace (2018). Pen, pencil, and inkjet printing on hanji, handmade papers, thread, manipulated papers and materials (including but not limited to natural dye, beeswax, ink, suminagashi, woven and knitted paper, ribbon, and fabric). 11.5 x 7.5 x 0.75′ closed. 14 pages. Variable edition of 10. Collections of Kenyon, Oberlin, Metropolitan Museum of Art Watson Library, SCAD Atlanta, UT San Antonio, UW-Madison Kohler Library, Stanford, UCLA, Yale, Cynthia Sears.

This book combs through observations from various people’s lives, and pairs these stories with quotations from books and media that I have read or consumed for almost 15 years. These quotes are included in the spirit of commonplace books, and reflect my lifelong practices (and/or obsession) with compiling inspiration, organization, and filing.

An omnipresent narrative accompanies text through drawings and objects. It mimics an instruction manual on how to sew a paper garment, which appears at the end, constructed from discarded prints accumulated in the making of the book. These tip-ins balance the tension and anxiety of the stories; these sewing scraps attempt to be neutral, a safe location for the reader to place their own biographies.

How it Begins (2018). Inkjet on handmade milkweed and mulberry paper embedded with paper threads and woven paper. 9.75 x 6.75 x 0.25′ closed, 10 pages. Scripps College Denison Library collection.

You’ve organized the strands
and       wait
for inspiration.
Then,
the unraveling.
Reorganize,
regroup,
consider a change of scale
or a
change of direction
or even
a new path
and      begin      again.

Covered (2019). Natural dyes and inkjet print on handmade paper, thread. 7.5 x 7.45 x 0.5′ closed, 11 pages, variable edition of 10. Collections of Oberlin, Indiana University Wells Library, Iowa State University Parks Library, Los Angeles Public Library, UNC Greensboro Library, Cynthia Sears Collection, private collections.

I wrote and drew Covered after someone noted that a great many surfaces in my home were covered in some kind of way. I live alone and was completely unconscious of this tendency, though sometimes in the past I had noted how my mother used textiles to cover the piano or the air conditioner wall unit.

When I looked at my home with fresh eyes, I was amazed by what I had done. This book is not an exhaustive catalog of all the covers and their purposes, but a window into the objects I chose to place in my home and the stories behind them. Colors and patterns are described but mostly left to the imagination in the accompanying illustrations. From time to time, real color appears as tipped-in handmade paper that I dyed with plant materials. The way I clothe my furniture and belongings is not much different from how I get dressed. Even the covers of the book are coated in persimmon juice: a protective coating rather than a dye that protects from moisture, insects, and dust. Though the edition is variable, each version is made from paper mulberry fibers that I hand processed and pulled in my hanji vat (which itself is a box covered with pond liner to act as waterproofing. From a distance, it looks like black draping).

One rhododendron bush in May 2020 (2020). Pen, gouache, and acrylic on handmade paper (milkweed paper covers and straps, harakeke pages). 10 leaves, unique, 5 x 4.75 x 0.5” closed. Cynthia Sears Collection.

This book cycles through days of looking at the same rhododendron bush in May during lockdown in Ohio, using papers that I had made on different occasions from botanical fibers. I made the covers from milkweed (Asclepias) harvested in Michigan (thanks to a 2019 visit to Pati Scobey’s Concord studio) and the pages from harakeke (Phormium tenax) in Australia (thanks to a 2018 visit to Barb Adams’ Melbourne studio). The binding, a backstitch structure made entirely from cut and folded paper, was invented by Elizabeth Steiner. I learned it from her book with Claire Van Vliet, Woven and Interlocking Book Structures (Janus Gefn Unlimited, 2002). Each pen and gouache drawing sits on an acrylic paint background, and this book is one of the few complete pieces that I managed to create during this scary solitary time.

The Drama of a Few Square Feet (2020). Acrylic and gouache on Wake Robin papers, thread, marigold dye on handmade papers.

Version 1: 6 leaves, mulberry & milkweed covers, milkweed endsheets, mulberry chiri pages. 5.75 x 4.25 x 0.74”. Private collection.
Version 2: 6 leaves, mulberry & milkweed covers, milkweed endsheets, mulberry chiri pages. 5.3 x 4.25 x 0.5”. Private collection.
Version 3: 7 leaves, milkweed covers, yucca endsheets, salago pages. 5.5 x 4.5 x 0.5”. Cynthia Sears Collection.
Version 4: 6 leaves, milkweed covers & endsheets, salago pages. 5.75 x 4.4 x 0.5”. Oak Spring Garden Foundation.

When lockdown began in early March 2020, to stay sane I began to draw a rhododendron bush in my front border that I could see from my living room. I sat there almost every day and drew the plant, adding a time and date to each drawing. This practice was encouraged and supported by a Covid-19 relief grant from OSGF after I began. The first drawings were in my sketchbook, but I eventually made smaller drawings on tiny pieces of handmade paper from a colleague (Velma Bolyard of Wake Robin). On occasion I would also draw a few other plants in the border as they appeared as the weather warmed. I brought all the drawings to Oak Spring for my residency in July/Aug 2020 as well as my own larger paper in hopes of practicing more 100% paper structures that involve cutting and folding paper and using paper straps rather than sewing books with needle and thread. I have made these books for years, inspired by Woven and Interlocking Structures by Claire Van Vliet and Elizabeth Steiner.

My artists’ book looks at the tiny ecosystem of my front border, which is only a few square feet, and how it grows and persists. Of course I was also consumed by bigger problems in the world, and how so many situations replicate themselves in small and large systems: how we tolerate “other” people and become good neighbors (the way that some plants do, and also how my plants survive in a small, shady, acidic, clay border), how we survive the weather (do we lose limbs, leaves, or pieces of our shelters), and how we behave in different climates (being compliant to certain forces like the sun or the police, or taking time to rest when it is cold).

Good Neighbors (2020). Pen, gouache, acrylic on handmade paper. 6 x 8 x 0.4”. 6 leaves. Cynthia Sears Collection; Carleton College Gould Library.

It’s easy to think it’s just us.
But we’re not the only ones occupying this land.
While busy multiplying and growing
adjacent, others are doing exactly the same
US.
THEM.
Or, we could learn
to be better neighbors