The Art of the Book 2018 is an international juried exhibition of the work of members of the Canadian Bookbinders and Book Artists Guild. Occurring every five years, this international show marks the 35th anniversary of the Guild and will be the only opportunity to see the show in Atlantic Canada.
The show was juried by four outstanding professionals: Betsy Palmer Eldridge, Lang Ingalls, Jan Elsted and Susan Warner Keene who met for two days to inspect the submissions in person, discuss each book’s merit and select the show. The final selections demonstrate artistic merit, technical competence and offer unique opportunity for education in the various aspects of book making. The exhibition examines eight aspects of the book makers’ art: Fine Binding, Fine Printing, Restoration, Box Making, Artists’ Books, Papermaking, Paper Decoration and Calligraphy.
Many of the books exhibit the extraordinarily exacting techniques involved in traditional bookmaking while others are uniquely individualistic. Some are collaborative creations between printer, writer and book binder while others were authored, bound and created by one artist. Many are exemplary displays of the full integration of form and content, with details in the binding, stitching, materials and structure echoing and supporting the artistic expression. Regardless of the approach, the breadth of creative expression and artistry will not disappoint.
Jerene Lane: The Fisher’s Boy
Embossed footprints and rolling waves complement Jerene Lane’s celebrated calligraphy of Henry David Thoreau’s poem “The Fisher’s Boy”:
“My life is like a stroll upon the beach,
As near the ocean’s edge as I can go;
My tardy steps its waves sometimes o’erreach,
Sometimes I stay to let them overflow.
My sole employment ’tis, and scrupulous care,
To place my gains beyond the reach of tides,
Each smoother pebble, and each shell more rare,
Which Ocean kindly to my hand confides.
I have but few companions on the shore:
They scorn the strand who sail upon the sea;
Yet oft I think the ocean they’ve sailed o’er
Is deeper known upon the strand to me.
The middle sea contains no crimson dulse,
Its deeper waves cast up no pearls to view;
Along the shore my hand is on its pulse,
And I converse with many a shipwrecked crew.”1
