Since the book is about the demolition of a house and the subsequent transformation of the lot into a garden, I wanted to use reclaimed materials. I had a wooden gardening table that had finally started to disintegrate, so I took it apart and used both the weathered wood and the rusted wood screws. My fence, falling down for decades, was finally rebuilt: I took a few of the old boards. The trellis for the ridiculous, overgrown jasmine had to come down. And I had a few strips of oak flooring from a remodel, done years ago. I had plenty of free raw materials.
Since the book's box is so dark with nothing in it, I added an LED tea light (one of the only purchases I needed to make). And I admittedly did buy a couple tillandsias (air plants) for it. (I've recently become enamoured with making little bubblescapes with them because they make me happy.) I have a collection of lichen on sticks that I have been drawing, and incorporated the sticks into the side shelf as well. I may make a little linocut seed packet print facsimile to tack onto the righthand leg.
Creating this reading table-installation-frame made me reassess how books are displayed globally in art contexts. I think book art might have a larger presence in art spaces, might be felt differently, if each book were part of an installation and commanded more attention.
I don't make large books. I like working small. I prefer working at a scale closer to my hands. But I enjoyed this puzzle, this way of building, one detail at a time, that—to my surprise—was a process close to creating a book.
Previous post about the book here.