I love me some book art. Look, I love books, wannabe writer
and all, lover of stories, make-believe and all things so truthfully telling of
the wondrous world in which we live.
This deep love in mind, once upon a time, I would have never
dreamed of physically destroying a book
so. To this day, I can’t even dog-ear a book (although a friend did make a
compelling case for dog-ears acting as miniature tales in themselves about a
book’s previous owner… wait, which of us is the writer?).
But now, what I once saw as destruction, I now see as
reconstruction and recreation of something new and most certainly beautiful in
its own right. My sister’s artwork only enforced this as I watched her turn a
stack of old encyclopaedias into some insanely interesting and eye-catching
sculptures.
And now, I love books even more for showing me just how
limited was my view of their real potential.
Isn’t it awesome when that happens?
