Really. So here are some hyper-preliminary images from my art thesis: Everything Will Be Alright. It’s a treasure hunt and these are just some details from elements appearing during the event. During the night of the opening (Thursday, April 21 @5pm if you’re in Tucson!), you will have the opportunity to participate in the treasure hunt. There is of course more to it but, well, it’s a surprise.

The postcards are letterpressed. I initially tried them out on the C&P and, after two fruitless hours, dropped it for the trusty Vandercook. The paper is Crane’s Lettra and there are 50 of these cards in existence. (The museum made a whole bunch of other cards too.)

(Yes, these are sparkly stickers. Yes, they’re a part of the show. Yes, this is an MFA thesis.) There are drawings in the show, in each of the spaces. Here’s a detail. Think: environment, textures, words.

I’ll post more pictures next week and perhaps some of my thoughts on the museum as an institution, which this project is essentially responding to. It also has to do with place and the presence or absence of meaning. In the meantime, if you’re in Tucson next week:

University of Arizona Museum of Art
Thursday, April 21 @ 5pm
Bring yo’ walking shoes and party hats!

Hope to see you there.

Last week, I received a copy of the latest issue of Sonora Review (#58), handbound by Spork Press in our very own Tucson. The cover was letterpressed by Spork, with plates made from a drawing I did. What I like about the concept of handbinding a book, especially a literary journal, is the attention to the book, the writing, as an object; as an environment we can enter into.

The binding used in this edition is a kind of modified stab binding (for which you can download directions here, from the excellent Booklyn). The stab binding is a side stitch that has a long history in Japanese bookbinding. Side-stitch works best, in my mind, with large pages (and hard cover) or small pages with a soft cover, creating a flexible page-turning experience. This edition is slightly difficult to open on account of the hard cover, wide gutter and small pages; though the pages, the paper choice, the words are, I believe, worth the read.

Interestingly, in the way that the world thinks collectively, the latest issue of Poets & Writers has several features about indie publishing and DIY bookmaking, to which I say: thank you and it’s about time. (These articles, sadly, aren’t available online.) Anyway, they talk about writing as contained object/s, while namedropping presses and journals like Diagram, Ugly Duckling Presse and Granta.

Above and below are two spreads that I illustrated for the section headers. The issue didn’t have a theme, per se, but contains a sort of whimsical feel. Something about flight, about the imagination, about space and prettiness. Anyway, the forthcoming issue, #59, is underway here in the studio. I can’t reveal the theme just yet, but let’s just say we’re going way back. Back into time.

Today I posted an article over at Essay Daily, a fine site dedicated to conversations surrounding the essay. The article considers the [beautiful/excellent] literary journal, Ninth Letter, first in terms of writing and then design. I even had the pleasure of email-chatting with Joshua Schriftman, the writer of a most interesting and forward-thinking piece in the recent issue, titled On Silence. Here is an excerpt from the post:

Enveloped in a search for quiet, On Silence, by Joshua Schriftman, considers an expanse of information from muses to language; from the decibel to death. The piece is a centrifuge at whose center is Andrea, or love perhaps. (What? I’m a closeted romantic. Step off.) Essentially, the piece is simultaneously soundless and loud in its earnest attempt at internal quiet. If not loud, exactly, then intense. But let’s talk about form.

The non-linear narrative offers silence as an elusive character whom our author seeks. In his search, we see two forms of footnotes, a chart, some diagrams and a numeric organizing principle. This fragmented narrative ultimately comprises a layered whole, where we are first compelled by the meditation on silence and later drawn into the story of a relationship and its subsequent failures. I was happy to find Schriftman on the internets and then-gasp!-a website for On Silence, with sound even. The site is password-protected, so I emailed Schriftman. He generously offered to share the site with me, which basically allows the user to navigate through the essay while experiencing sound, clicking and reading. In other words: it’s a manifestation of the form of the essay itself, with moving footnotes and multisensory experiences

The post goes on to the conversation with Schriftman and ends with a meditation on design. Not the design of the journal, per se, but the design of writing. Where are the essays that smash letters with images, intertwining them so deeply that one component cannot be considered without the other?

Check it out!