Artist Books

In Life Unspooled, the housing–a rotary grater– dictated the form of the book and provided the impetus for the narrative. 

My eldest sister’s complex and rich life ended with a short decrescendo into illness and hospice. During this end time I went to Paris where she was living to help care for her briefly and bring her back to the USA. It was during this two week period that the broken grater appeared as a harbinger and later became the vehicle for this story.

Life Unspooled is in three sections, each fitting into a different part of the grater. Upon opening the arm of the grater, an accordion section unfolds, showing images of the eclipse as projected through a colander, echoing the pattern of holes on the grater drum and setting the mood for the reflective nature of the book. This section is punctuated by a drop of glaze from my sister’s kiln. Inside the grater well is another accordion book which is sewn to the grater drum. Pulling it open, one sees a series of portraits of my sister throughout her life, her gaze looking forward and back at herself as a baby, as a beautiful young woman, in middle age, and in her last years. Inside the drum, curled tightly in an aluminum coil, is another accordion section with the story of the grater. All three accordion sections are affixed to fraying scraps of black silk.

Text:

Life Unspooled 

 She called and said we should come. 

We were on a plane three days later. 

We made her breakfast, always the same: 

one egg sunny side up, 

a scone with jam, tea,

each day later and later 

until her breakfast was our lunchtime

We filled and refilled the hot water bottle 

so she could press it against the dull pain. 

We made dinner a few times. 

The rotary cheese grater wouldn’t work. 

It was bent and off its rails. 

Into the recycling bin it went. 

It stayed there for several days, 

this functional thing turned nonfunctional. 

It disappeared on garbage day; 

I made reluctant peace with its absence.

Later, Alain appeared with the grater in his hands

and said, 

I thought you might want this…

This small installation consists of: the broken Shojoji affixed to a Japanese box lid; a book of collages, bound with brass wire fittings on an antique Japanese sash; a large shard with collaged interior; a small knotted book introducing the work; an accordion book, containing the text, bound with two shards and pieces of wood.

Shojoji, a tanuki (racoon dog), is an animal associated with magical powers in Japanese folklore. A trickster and a shapeshifter, Shojoji is always hungry. After performing his mischief, he eats a big meal and pats his big belly, saying, “Koi koi koi!” Shojoji is a favorite children’s song (see links below) I remember from my early years. This ceramic shojoji was an incense burner with an opening in the back for placing the incense sticks; the fragrant smoke wafted from the holes in the face and belly. I had used it for mosquito coils on the patio before it broke. Because it was such a relic of my childhood, I kept the pieces. Now it has shape-shifted into an artist book containing memories of my early childhood in Japan during the American occupation after World War II. 

Sweet Cocoon is a poem, a collection of objects, an artist book in video form, and a unique codex with curved pages, all housed in an antique bottle case. The poem is a personal reflection on life in the early months of the pandemic; it gave rise to a series of photographs, collages, and composites, and ultimately resulted in a video and the accompanying artist book. The video, playing on an iPad set into the cover of the bottle case, includes found sounds and an original score by Adam Chodoff. Many of the objects suggested by the poem or shown in the video are part of the installation.

Sweet Cocoon, an artist book in video form: https://vimeo.com/633239928/adacb3417f

Drawings, inked, crumpled, rubbed, and pressed, were mounted on aluminum sheets which were then rolled; the five convex and six concave sheets curve to a depth of 4”and can be assembled end to end to form a wave of paper, either in a long line, a semicircle, or in segments. The wave stands alone or serves as a backdrop for the artist book Press/Crush described below.

Aluminum objects flattened with a steamroller fossilize violent actions. These objects combine with drawings, rubbings, prints, and collages to further the theme of crushing pressure. The double pages fold open to support the structure; the crushed objects hang suspended. The text on the last page riffs on the word press: repress, depress, oppress, compress, decompress, expression, impression, impressive, pressure.

Dual works, Mirrors, an artist book, and the video mirrorrim use photographs of rooms through mirrors and collages from superimposed images to explore visual interiors and absence. The text, "If you can’t see my mirrors, I can’t see you," is from a snapshot of a passing truck. Bits of mirror reflect the text and collage elements enhance the images. The book is bound with delicate metallic fabric and is meant to be displayed open and can be hung on the wall. The curved pages fold and fit into a cookie tin; the top reflects the title of the book so the reverse writing can be read.

Four matchboxes hold lists of the US soldiers who have died in Iraq between March 2003 and March 2007, the fourth anniversary of the war. Their names are mounted on burnt matches; each match holds about fifteen names and resembles a flag. The four boxes fit in a case made from two exit signs.

Edition of three, box with casters

In the first spread, Removal/Remove, magnetized plaques detach to reveal images of things to be removed. In the second spread, Remove/Move, a magnetized disk lifts and attaches to a spinning mechanism. The third spread, Immovable, features an embedded fossilized crab.

A kitchen matchbox covered with ash houses this small two-part book that is a reflection on 9/11 and the war in Afghanistan. Finished before the war in Iraq, one section features an icon-like image of Osama bin Laden surrounded by small clay death heads. Idyllic images from Afghan trucks are superimposed on a photo from the N.Y. Times of the plane aiming for the second tower of the World Trade Center. The second section features a delicate butterfly wing painted red,white, and blue, and a picture of George W. Bush peering like a sheik through the folds of a dollar bill.

Unique free-standing book

Don’t Panic is bound with telephone wire and stands or hangs to reveal a sequence of six directives: YOU, YOU DO IT, CAN IT, CAN IT DO, IT CAN DO YOU, and finally, YOU CAN DO IT. On the backs of the pages are patterns of phrases cut from lists of platitudes given out by well-meaning school officials. They become increasingly more fragmented towards the end of the book.

Found objects, bookboard, photocopies
Accordion book; five unique variants with boxes; freestanding

Letters spelling the word “procrastination" made from bookboard backed with doodles and drawings and bound with elastic spaced with wire-covered minute timers. Cover is made from an old alarm clock. A small monument to procrastination, this accordion book is bound with elastic cord. The blank clock face and tethered timers hold the book together and the clock collage has extra hours added to it. The backs of the pages are cartoons and doodles drawn by bored students in the margins of workbooks.

Artist's Book, edition of four with boxes

This prickly book has the three dimensional feel of a tunnel book. The cover is made of a kitchen grater, and it is bound with unravelled picture wire. The jumble of kitchen utensils is a metaphor for a disorganized and fast-paced life. The effect of chaos is heightened by the use of mirrors which add a dimension of depth to the photographs. Each page spells a letter of the word “chaos", and the viewer must use the mirrors to complete these letters. The book is housed in a box in the shape of a kitchen drawer.

Open edition

Color copies from slides of homemade cookies and collages composed of commercial cookie boxes, school hand outs, and articles about mothering. The text on the cookies reads: “Ceci n’est pas un petit gâteau; c’est l’amour. Ceci n’est pas l’amour; c’est un petit gâteau."

Unique hanging book

The process of cookie making. An exploration of the motion of stirring and the stirred emotions cookies evoke.

Accordion book with cutouts and portraits of full dishwasher loads. Text from a dishwasher repairman. Endpapers encrusted with dishwasher related objects and imagery. Back cover has a design of scrubbers. Box opens like a dishwasher.

Unique, with box

MUST (Mothers Under STress) incorporates cutouts from a newspaper article on motherhood, “cookies" made of laundry lint. Pages are stacked and bound in a house shape. Box is covered with laundry lint.

Five circular collages of small found objects set in paper. Paper covered steel disks form the cover. Can be unbolted and displayed flat or wall mounted.

A kitchen matchbox covered with sand houses this small journal done during the Gulf War. Each page is a collage of a different aspect of the war as it unfolded. The text consists of headings cut from a magazine article.

Large papier collé endpapers sandwich irregularly shaped pages painted with spirals. Exploration of the color blue; space imagery. Circular patterns in metallic paint on left hand pages. Extra long chiffon allows book to be spread out so all pages are visible.

Fan-shaped accordion book. Explores the color yellow through heat imagery. Objects in the last fold are visible through cut out openings when book is closed. May be displayed semi-folded or flat. Can be wall mounted.

Pages of double thickness curved to conform to the palm of the hand, with openings narrowing to a tiny feather embedded in the last page. This is one of several curved Black Books.

Collages made from fan-shaped pieces of paper folded and worked on both sides. Objects sandwiched between the layers and rubbed with graphite suggest fragments of metal embedded in pavement.