Working with Old Book Pages
I enjoy making art from discarded books. The words on the book pages, help me recall significant thoughts and feelings, even memories which can be therapeutic. This post is inspired by my special relationship with old pages.
A Blank Page
It is always good to start with a new blank page. You can write anything you want. Or make any mark that you wish. Everyone loves fresh paper - the scent, the feel, the tantalizing edges that threaten to slice your fingers if you caressed it too closely. Absolutely alluring. The potential of the new page is endless, limited only by imagination. You may write anything you like - big, small, cursive, bold, even unintelligible words. What counts is starting on the crisp pristine page.
Starting on a totally blank page sometimes can be fraught with anxiety. Especially when past pages we have created have been criticized and scrutinized for errors and subject to unkind remarks. Or when the whiteness of the page overwhelms, like confronting the vastness of a snowy tundra in the arctic yet to be conquered. Beautiful but laced with unseen danger. Despite all the tools on hand, it involves too much risk of mistakes. Where do you start? What should you write? Perhaps it looks best when untouched and left completely virginal. The page looks too perfect to deface or too formidable to embark on. We may be dead frozen even before starting out.
Other times we inherit an old page. One that has been used and salvaged. They call it recycling. You can see writing, streaks of eraser tracks strewn over the page and old markings recessed into the paper, depressing the mood. It is not pristine. In fact, some parts might have been irrevocably stained, and bits torn out. Perhaps the person before simply could not bear the burden of making the first mark and had a meltdown on the page. Then what? Do we work with what we find – warts and all? Or do we repair the page before even making our own mark? It is too difficult to own the piece when you can see shadows of others on it. The imagination becomes curtailed and the experience marred.
Repairing it would seem logical since we would be embarrassed to even be seen with a tardy and worn page. I mean, what in the world would people think? That you only deserve a recycled page that has been used by someone else? I can imagine little people and even big ones commenting on the quality of the paper and how it is deficient. You can spend a lifetime and a fortune restoring paper and seek the elusive sheen. Even then, it is unclear if the paper would not betray the less than proud origins when you take a closer look.
I have spent the bulk of my life desiring the pristine blank page. I ruminate that I would have been so much more creative, inspired, and carefree if I started right. I am sure the literature and art forthcoming from the page would have been brilliant and reflect my genius. I resented the people and events that have caused stains to emerge on my page even before I could get started. I did not have control over these things. Before I know it, the page was ruined by seemingly well-meaning actions. But nonetheless the damage has been inflicted, and I alone must bear responsibility for what was left over.
I used erasers, and white outs to restore the shadows on the old page. The erasers thinned the paper considerably, and the white outs created a crusty layer of skin over some parts. It would look like a dustbowl with hidden mines if I were an ant. For the torn-out bits, I tried to cover them over with paper scraps and used scotch tape to secure them on the back page. Just like Frankenstein, it was obvious the page has been overworked and somewhat hideous looking, though fiercely reinforced. When you finally start making markings, it can be rather tedious. The thinned-out parts would tear if you made a mistake and needed to erase again over the same spot. Sometimes in frustration, and a bit of angst, a hole would result, necessitating a new round of careful repair. You needed to write carefully when going over the ridges of paper pasted over the torn bits. If your neighbor were to give an ever-slight push, you would get a jagged word or line tripping over the ridges.
The thing about writing on salvaged paper is that you become cavalier about by what you put on it. Like how the wine commensurate with the kind of barrel you use. You begin to accept and live with the shadows, and they begin to grow on you. You look at the pages that others are using and get fixated with the worthiness of their paper compared to yours. The completed work on the page matter less than the origin of the paper. Though my work was not all that tardy, I could not see beyond the stains, holes, and ridges which marked my page. No matter how I repaired and covered over, the history remained, recorded, and imprinted. Darn! At some point, it was tempting to rip out parts of the page which became unrepairable and intolerable. But that would mean destroying the written work I had created over the page as well. Though It was not my best, it was respectable effort. Mediocrity alas seeps in not by lack of talent but due to cynical dampened spirits. Over time, feigning mediocrity creates a strain just like keeping up with the aged page.
Then I encountered something intriguing – artists who work with old books. It is a form of art where artists revere using old books and pages to create magnificent works. It was fascinating as erasers and white outs were not the chosen implements since the purpose was not to repair or restore but to mutate and transform. Working off the history of the material. You could not only write on it, you could put implements like paints, glitter, ink, even collage on it, making it unrecognizable. The aim is to deconstruct, combine with other materials and put it back in imaginative ways! The history and imprints on the page made it inspiring. The passing of time created a diversity of patterns and they varied with each page. Aged and vintage materials held deep stories that invoked emotions and draw people to the works. The aged page could speak with a commanding voice as an old embodied spirit that have endured unspeakable changes, unlike the new pristine page which appeared now naive and ubiquitous. I suddenly reveled in my inherited old page.
How marvelous! I can imagine many captivating stories impregnated with emotions echoing from my torn and salvaged page. As well from me, the owner who have developed an enduring relationship with her old page, never abandoning it despite its scars and insufferable wounds that needed mending. From inheriting it in less than perfect state, destiny was sown that the full gift of the old page would not be revealed till much delay. For owner and old page, each to discover synchronicities in the other and uncover the innate potential which laid within, in layers beyond what was skin deep. Knowing all the crevices which hid untold stories unleash the synergy between the artist and her medium. That the imperfections would not anymore be a hindrance but instead a muse to artistic creation. Mediocrity has found its cure, recognizing the prize. The pursuit of the pristine blank page seems to have hollowed out and diminished in significance.
It is in the end not the medium, new or old, stained or pristine that made the work remarkable, but the trust that the artist has with her medium, the acceptance of each other’s misgivings, to enable her to reach into her own emotional depths to find the real inner voice. The voice that is not afraid of imperfection, disappointment, failure, detour…A range of emotions including joy, and pain. The medium in turn carries the rich stories, compelling others to listen to that old authentic voice. Certainly, the old riddled page has just as much value than the pristine blank page, if not more. for it possessed everything I ever wanted to say from the beginning. We had shared the same storied and soulful past from the start.
Han Li June
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