A Traipse Through Old Journals — Inside and Out

How I Got Into Bookbinding

A transition. Printed, cut, + glued into my journal. A poem of a kind. 21 March, 2002

My first Tome, purchased in Venice

I saw something about raw milk which reminded me of my first encounter with raw milk in Ecuador. I tried to find it in my old journals, but I don’t even remember the year. ⁠
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As I was picking through I found other things and now I am thinking it could be fun to investigate my old self and share excerpts as well as the objects themselves — bound horribly — by yours truly. ⁠(Except for the first one shared here)

I don’t love digging into my past. It causes a twist in my gut that I cannot physically tolerate, not about bad things, just in remembering what was. Time. I remember the first time it happened so clearly — I was in fifth grade. I think I live so much in the moment because I am afraid of this feeling. But now I am thinking it is time to dig in. If only for the fun parts and the bookbinding to start.

Perhaps I’ll end up finding what I’d written about the milk, but maybe I’ll uncover more. I think I am looking forward to this. A pause from the poeming perhaps, for this new backwards adventure. I was talking with my friend

Deborah J. Stein

about not hearing the poem voices anymore and she said, “Sometimes things just dry up for a while.” Yeah.

I am starting with a book that changed my life. But books have always changed my life. It is always so difficult to follow a thread, to find a beginning. I bought a journal in Venice and it fell apart. But I loved it so much I tried to track down another two years later. The price had doubled, so I decided to learn to make journals myself. I didn’t set out to master a craft — I’m not the type. I just loved always having a big beautiful book to hide in.

The journal begins on the 27th of November, 2000. I was 24 years old and it is completely cringy. I carried it around for two years and in that time, I traveled a lot and went to Iceland for the first time. I saw a lot of live music. I was in a band and wrote songs which fill most of the journal. I saw a lot of movies and read a lot of books. I dragged a Hassleblad everywhere and somehow got into concerts with it. I photographed PJ Harvey, Patti Smith, and others. Lee Ronaldo filled a page with a scribble and Kim Gorden accepted a tiny tin of tiger balm from me for her migraine. I saved three unused Magnetic Fields Tickets (I forgot about it and remembered as I bit into a peach with maggots in the pit). I opened a record and vintage clothing shop. I unceremoniously wrote, “"Have I mentioned that I opened a record shop 8 December 2001? I want to go somewhere. I think I would like that.” I glued a lot of letters and printed emails onto the pages, including, of course, letters from Katie. I took far too many self-portraits which sounds slightly less self indulgent than selfie, but wow, no. I was fascinated with my reflection.

So much change and yet, here I am.

First page. My mom, who hated even holding a camera, took this photograph of me.

It is quite blurry

Pj Harvey, Sonic Youth, Magnetic Fields, Patti Smith

I am drifting down the rabbit hole of being mortified of my younger self and I may keep adding things as I uncover. I found this seal and then this article about my shop and it isn’t cringy but inspiring for our 15th anniversary celebration in June that hasn’t even begun but risks cancelling!

Read about the old shop here!

An Excerpt:

It’s been raining for days now and in the midst of the storm, Pip and I sit (she smokes, I write) in our rockers, rocking. Then she said, “I want a rainbow” And in an instant the sun broke through and in the next a small boy shouted, “Look! There’s rainbow. Hey everybody — there’s a rainbow!” We jumped from our rockers (and they continued to rock) and looked up into the sky, and Pippy said, “I never asked for a rainbow before and got one!”

27 May 2001


ABOUT THE BOOK:

I found the place where I bought it in Venice — though back in 2002 it was quite a treasure hunt from home, two years after purchasing it.

The paper is thin and shrively. I glued a lot of stuff in and carried it around, but the thin paper quickly detached from the cover. All books are made of paper and book board, some with leather, and with so much use and abuse, they are bound to give out. I’ve learned a lot since then.

I loved the overall look of the book and how pieced together it was. Just hands making. An unexpected treasure and an invitation into bookbinding. I’d stapled and taped and glued books together since I was six, but this was something other.

I like the tie (especially since the book block fell out!)

I thought I was repairing it but I just cheese-clothed the book block so the signatures would stay together.

I’ll share my second bound book next week.

The first was stolen. Read about The Journal Thief !

The book couldnt handle the abuse of two years and so much glued in. It swelled and split. From this, I learned how to bind — and my next books did exactly the same thing.