Working with Old Book Pages
Li June Han (MA, AThR)
Singapore
I enjoy making art from discarded books; words and scents embedded in the material evoke thoughts and emotions previously concealed in my subconscious. I reflect more deeply about the old chapters of my life and their Impact on me and my relationship with clients.
The process is metaphorical in confronting conventions, as few would damage books, which represent knowledge and authority (Chilton, 2007). With clients it can be a symbolic process: allowing the re-authoring of life stories, catalyzing transformation with alternative endings (Cobb & Negash, 2010).
Through the following artworks and a piece of creative writing I uncover how working with old pages is entwined with my quest for personal meaning and significance. The insights gained have enriched my personal reflexivity and clinical practice.
These selected artworks showcase the spontaneity involved in the art making process, along with a range of themes, materials and techniques explored. Each artwork carries its own rich story and unique revelation.
A Blank Page
It is always good to start with a blank page. I can write anything I want or make any mark I wish. Everyone loves fresh paper — the scent, the feel, the tantalizing edges that threaten to slice my fingers if I caress it too closely. Absolutely alluring. The potential of the new page is boundless. What counts is starting on a crisp pristine page.
Starting on a blank page can be fraught with anxiety sometimes. Especially when past pages have been criticized, 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. Where do I start? What shall I write? Perhaps it looks best when untouched and left completely virginal. The page looks too perfect to deface, too formidable to embark on.
Other times I inherit an old page. One that has been used and salvaged. They call it recycling. I 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 may 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 I work with what I find — warts and all? Or do I repair the page before even making my own mark? It is too difficult to own the piece when I can see shadows of others on it. The imagination becomes curtailed and the experience marred.
Repairing it seems logical since I will be embarrassed to even be seen with a tawdry and worn page. I mean, what in the world will people think? That I only deserve a recycled page that has been used by someone else? I can spend a lifetime and a fortune restoring the paper and seek the elusive sheen. Even then, it is unclear if the paper will not betray the less than proud origins when others take a closer look.
I have spent the bulk of my life desiring the pristine blank page. I ruminate that I will have been so much more creative, inspired, and carefree if I started right. I am sure the literature and art forthcoming from the page will have been brilliant and reflected my genius. I resent the people and events that have caused stains to emerge on my page even before I can get started. I do not have control over these things. The page was ruined by seemingly well-meaning actions. But nonetheless the damage once inflicted, I alone must bear responsibility for what is left behind.
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. Just like Frankenstein’s monster, it was obvious the page has been overworked and somewhat hideous looking, though fiercely reinforced.
The thing about writing on salvaged paper is that I gradually become cavalier about what I put on it. Like how the wine commensurate with the kind of barrel used. I begin to accept and live with the shadows and they start to grow on me. I often looked at the pages that others were using and fixated on the worthiness of their paper compared to mine. The completed work on the page mattered less than the origin of the paper. Though my work was not all that tawdry, 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 a 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.
“It is in the end not the medium, new or old, stained or pristine, that makes the work remarkable but the trust that the artist has with her medium and 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.”
Then I encounter 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 is fascinating as erasers and white-outs are not the chosen implements since the purpose is not to repair or restore, but to mutate and transform. Working off the history of the material. I can write on it, I can 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 make it inspiring. The passing of time has created a diversity of patterns and they varied with each page. Aged and vintage materials hold deep stories that evoke emotions and draw people to the works. The aged page speaks with a commanding voice as an old embodied spirit that has endured unspeakable changes, unlike the new pristine page which appear now naïve and ubiquitous. I suddenly revel 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 has developed an enduring relationship with her old page — never abandoning it despite its scars and insufferable wounds that need mending. From inheriting it in a less than perfect state, destiny was sown that the full gift of the old page will not be revealed till much delay. For owner and old page, each to discover synchronicities in the other and uncover the innate potential which lay within; in layers beyond what is skin deep. Knowing all the crevices which hide untold stories unleash the synergy between the artist and her medium. That the imperfections will not 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 makes the work remarkable but the trust that the artist has with her medium and 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 as the pristine blank page, if not more: for it possesses everything I ever wanted to say from the beginning. We have shared the same storied and soulful past from the start.
References:
Chilton, G. (2007). Altered books in art therapy with adolescents. Journal of the American Art Therapy Association, 24(2), 59-63.
Cobb, R. A. & Negash, S. (2010). Altered book making as a form of art therapy: A narrative approach. Journal of Family Psychotherapy, 21(1), 54-69.