June 9-15, 2005

art

Book Club

The Gershman Y's exhibition of book arts spans the definition of the term, from more traditional works like Dotty Attie's portfolio There Lived in Egypt (detail above) to Edward Hutchins' multimedia Words for the World (below).

From Alexandria to Philadelphia, artists are making books out of words and pictures like never before.

by Robin Rice

By chance, the very last artwork I saw in the current exhibition at the Gershman Y's Borowsky Gallery perfectly sums up the richness of "Honoring the Book" and book arts in general: its international appeal; the wit, inventiveness and technical range of book artists; and their ambiguous — perhaps ambivalent — relationship to language and communication.

Edward Hutchins' Words for the World, an unpretentious tin pencil box with a map of the world printed on the top and 15 pencils of different colors inside, would strike most people as an object rather than a book. But think of each pencil as a page printed with a different text, which Hutchins describes as "watchwords to promote understanding and goodwill." "It doesn't hurt to listen" is one slogan. Others are rendered in different languages and orthographies.

The cunning humor and idealism of this piece are rather typical of book arts, as is the emphasis on tactile materiality and pristine execution. Hutchins' bid for international understanding is especially suited to this exhibition, which was originally organized by Suzanne Reese Horvitz to represent the United States at the first International Biennale for the Artist's Book at the Bibliotheca Alexandrina in 2004. Though lost, the library of Alexandria is the most renowned of the ancient world. It is fitting that Egypt would host a contemporary exhibition of book arts in its new Bibliotheca Alexandrina.

For the Gershman Y show, Horvitz, a founding member of Nexus Gallery and an internationally recognized and traveled artist, complements books by U.S. artists with the work of three Egyptians. Khaled Hafez, the general commissioner of the Biennale, is showing two folios of collaged pages. Diary of Detritus and Detritus II spotlight common printed phrases and packing materials, reminding us of the pervasive power of the ordinary. Ahmed Refaat endearingly elevates the lowest of things with a sort of family portrait composed of cast paper footprints. Hussein Abdel Basset contributed unbound lyrical block prints in brown on bisque paper. The language is Arabic. The imagery is ancient and iconic: fluted columns, grape leaves, an angel, birds and a many-oared galley.

Philadelphian Carol Moore's fan book A Woman of a Certain Age (offset lithography, 2002).

Some works address the worst in humanity. Christopher Wilde's Lt. Shrapnel unites the work of several artists in realizing author Joel Brouwer's "a glint of steel between a guy's ribs will snip him to chop suey." In The Business Is Suffering, Maureen Cummins layers archival text of whinging letters from slave sellers. Less grim but still trenchant, Philadelphia artist Sandra Lerner's He/She pivots from flat sheets into a self-supporting structure. Alternative surfaces tell the Adam and Eve story demonstrating that one's point of view is often what distinguishes "victim" from "villain."

One way in which artists' books diverge from traditional ones has to do with the way one experiences them. Even when the text is straightforward poetry or narration, one is not allowed to enter fully into the (for me at any rate) trance-like mentation of reading as distinct from the equally compelling but very different mind-set of visual reception.

Artists' books comment on the complexities of communication even as they frustrate it. In Philadelphian Carol Moore's circular fan book A Woman of a Certain Age one must consciously seek the text, which in this case is different on the recto and verso faces of the fan pleats. A third text borders the top edge of the opened fan. Meditations from different times and places on the perceived value and the physical being of a woman are reinforced by the sensuous counterpoint of a silk-bound slipcase and crisp folds of paper, edged in red almost as knife blades drawn through living flesh.

Douglas Beube transforms a vintage printed book, Today the Sun Rises, into an object with leaves of scorched lace, like the surface of a brain. Robert Roesch, a Philadelphian widely known for large-scale, multipart public art projects, made a hinged metal cover with a porthole opening onto a picture of a globe for Sea Sense; while Susan Viguers, an award-winning writer and head of the University of the Arts' Book Arts program, literally houses Portrait of a Son: Nick's Room in a frame structure of boxwood.

In contrast to craft skills like bookbinding and letterpress, the computer is a topic of contention among some book artists today. Detractors believe digital processing and ink-jet printing substitute technology for skill — perhaps even feeling. I tend to think that poseurs who rely on computer magic will be exposed as their expensive tricks become commonplace. It is folly to blame the tool for the artist's inadequacies. Horvitz embraced the new technology early and wields it skillfully to compose prints in full-throttle color and extravagant metallic surfaces. Corpus Christi Myth-Ecstasy contrasts these with attached leaves of translucent vellum simply printed with lines of poetry.

For more outstanding artists' books, see "Art Full Text," 35 Philadelphia artists (several also in the Borowsky show) selected by Cavin Jones. It's at City Hall through June 24.

Honoring the Book Through Aug. 14, Borowsky Gallery, Gershman Y, 401 S. Broad St., 215-446-3001