As part of ABC - Artist Book Club (UJ) we engaged with Chris Reinders to explore a series of books from the late 18th century written about/with/in Africa. 'Winter in Algeria' by Ellen Rogers was already slightly damaged. I somehow fingered it first as the choices of books stacked on the long table so overwhelming and so many people taking/swopping/dropping books. Part of not being too obvious I suppose looking at what was in front of me defined my choices, the dark red/maroon/oxblood colour with a gold woman with a scarfe/cloth/doek covering her face. Some artists talked about burning or destroying the books. It was a complex issue on so many levels for me as I grew up in a house where books = knowledge and you had to wash your hands before even touching a book. The book was damaged slightly but could also be repaired. I did not realise that it was written about a woman, did not realise that is was a travelogue about Algeria, nor have I ever heard of the book. I kept returning to the image of the woman, tracing her lines, contours, the image denying an identity.
I started to embroider handkerchieves rather then engaging with the book because dismantling a book was a bit to much for my sensibility. I could not perceive undoing such a beautiful object. And that is part of the charm...a book was part of the era of thinking as an object of beauty, power, knowledge and status. It adorned many libraries, a show of wealth and manners! Now a book is discarded and the art of book making a forgotten tradition.
Only with the help of Jo-Ann Chan could I begin to undo the book, use the front page as a plate and run a series of prints...it took nearly 9 months of deliberating and agony to do this, but what an extra-ordinary experience, learned a lot...and explored paper and fabric...the fabric series I am embroidering on but there still is no concrete book reconstituted.
She feels like a ghost, somehow I am not getting the message yet the she is emerging and disappearing at the same time...she holds a gentle sway of direct contact with the reader as the golden glow creates a sense of glory yet her clothing wraps her, swaddles her in layers of cloth. Unknown.
I found a young artist from Algeria called Baya Mahieddine born in 1939 and died in 1998. https://theculturetrip.com/africa/algeria/articles/baya-mahieddine-the-young-artist-who-inspired-picasso/
I am hoping to create a conversation between Ellen Baya and I when I am brave enough to unbundle the book. Redo the pages, cut out the figure and write notes onto the delicately printed pages.
Only with the help of Jo-Ann Chan could I begin to undo the book, use the front page as a plate and run a series of prints...it took nearly 9 months of deliberating and agony to do this, but what an extra-ordinary experience, learned a lot...and explored paper and fabric...the fabric series I am embroidering on but there still is no concrete book reconstituted.
She feels like a ghost, somehow I am not getting the message yet the she is emerging and disappearing at the same time...she holds a gentle sway of direct contact with the reader as the golden glow creates a sense of glory yet her clothing wraps her, swaddles her in layers of cloth. Unknown.
I am hoping to create a conversation between Ellen Baya and I when I am brave enough to unbundle the book. Redo the pages, cut out the figure and write notes onto the delicately printed pages.
As for the handkerchiefs: Before people used the word handkerchief, the word kerchief alone was common. This term came from two French words: couvrir, which means “to cover,” and chef, which means “head.” In the times of ancient Greece and Rome, handkerchiefs were often used the way they are today.
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