--George Eliot
Anyone who knows me, knows my love affair with books. While I do enjoy reading in itself, I also love the books themselves. Their heaviness and heft, the sound of turning pages, the scent of papers and ink. Long shelves where books are nestled in close together and spread in lines of different colored heights are a beautiful sight. They contribute to the quiet.
My own books were in storage for two years. I missed them like old friends. When they were finally unpacked, I held each one like it was something I had lost. Amber was helping me and she said every now and then I would sigh. She would look over at me and I would be smiling at a book I had just pulled from the box--running my hands over the cover, smelling its pages, placing it in line.
This love of books is one part of me that I love the best. It seems like the simplest and truest part. It is also the easiest to maintain. Yesterday, I took my love of books in a different direction and attended a workshop on the making of simple books that can be used in the classroom. In four hours, we made thirteen different books; a great way to spend an afternoon. We used simple papers, but I kept thinking about all the beautiful papers that could be used, how beautiful the books could be.
The studio smelled of books, of papers and ink, of heaviness, of possibility. I am even more excited now for bookbinding in the fall. I feel like my books are waiting.
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