About ten years ago, I became obsessed with bookbinding. Feeling different papers, glues, cardboard and fabrics. I would make tiny books and send them all over the world, and receive tiny books back. It was always so exciting to find a thick envelope in my mailbox. I would count the stamps. I would study the postage marks. But most of all, I would think about the person who made the book. How they might have felt for certain textures on papers. Cut edges so they fit just so.
Admittedly, my interest has wained over recent years. However, I carry a handmade notebook in my purse at all times, and it accumulates my sketches and collages until its filled. Here are a few pages from the latest, which I'll soon be sending off to a dear friend across America: