 |
||
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
 |
 |
A
reference to Russian artistsí books in Johanna Druckerís The
Century of Artistsí Books sparked my interest in
hectography (a now-antique copying process using a gelatin
bed), probably because the Russian books were right up my
biblio alley.
These early 20th century works were intellectual and
conceptual.
Many were printed on cheap papers by primitive methods.
Nothing about them said ìFine Printing.î
Everything about them announced ìBrilliant,î
ìThought-Provoking,î ìImportant.î
For
a number of yearsónot coincidentally, my tenure in IdahoóI
have been enamored with creating or urging others to create
interesting books with unpromising materials via archaic
methods.
Silk purses from spudís ears.
I have had a small-to-large hand in producing or
assigning works to be produced on copier machines or with
recycled papers (ah cardboard!
ah corregation!) or with unexpectedóyet
appropriateóbindings (Velcro, duct tape, barb wire), as well
as works that contained albumen prints or cyanotypes.
I have also collected, exhibited and written about such
works by numerous zinesters and by Idahoís autistic,
artist-bookmaker, James Castle.
So,
for the last year or two, Iíve attempted to learn more about
hectography, the seemingly unpromising, low-end duplication
process.
During this time, I have involved my students in these
hecto amblings.
(Futility, second cousin to Misery, also loves
company.)
Our path has led us to modest achievements, hilarious
happenings and gelatinous tragedies, but not, I regret to
report, a brilliant, thought-provoking, important hectographic
book.
Still, we have explored a fascinating chapter on the
way to Hypertext.
And, I console myself, there are always future
generations of students and surfers.
Click on, Cousin!
