This morning over coffee, Lisa and I talked about pieces of art and craft, and the lives they have after they leave our hands. I started thinking about the pieces of artwork on my walls now, and about how they’ve moved from home to home with me, and how my relationship to them deepens over time. Lisa suggested that the books that I make move out into the world in a potentially exciting way, and I realized that I never think about my books once they’re sold and gone- or, rather, while I remember them, I don’t wonder how they’ve changed with use.
When I got to my studio a little while later I looked through some of the books that I’ve made, used, and loved over time. I found two calendars, definitely much worse for the wear but worn with love and care. This purple polka-dotted one went to India with me a few years ago and also testifies to a busy school schedule.
I’m just about done with this little black one, and it’s held up well considering that it’s gone just about everywhere with me since last December.
I don’t know much about the lives of all the books I’ve made and sold and given away, but now I’m feeling curious. I do know that my mom has a stockpile of my blank books and calendars that she hasn’t written a word in. I think she told me that she penciled in an appointment on the first page of a calendar I’d given her, but later went back and erased it!
It’s nice to imagine meeting all those books again and seeing how they’ve gracefully weathered under other people’s hands.