Books: The Gift that Keeps on Giving

In 1865, Boston-based printer Louis Prang (1824-1909), introduced the Christmas Stocking Library, a boxed set of chapbooks full of holiday merriment for the kiddies. This was published nine years before he introduced the first commercial Christmas card to the American public in 1874. Prang, a German immigrant, learned the art of dyeing, printing, and engraving from his father who was a textile printer of calico fabrics. In 1848 Prang was forced to flee Germany because of his political opposition to the Prussian government. Two years later he arrived in Boston and supported himself by making wood engravings for various publications and eventually partnered with Julius Mayer to form Prang and Mayer, Lithographic Printers. They specialized in the printing of business cards, advertisements, and other job printing, and also gained some success with the printing of a series of colored album cards featuring scenic landscapes, animals and flowers which were sold for $3/dozen inside a patented envelope. Just like this boxed set of Christmas chapbooks, the illustrated album cards were printed in four colors, each drawn on stone and folded into accordion structures. The label appearing on the box of the Christmas Stocking Library was printed five solid colors.  

The title page and interior illustrations in each chapbook are early examples of Prang's chromolithography.

As a side story to this lovely little Christmas Stocking Library; it was sold last February at the PBA Galleries auction for $5500. This very rare boxed set belonged to book collector, Pamela Harer, who I last reported on July 3, 2014 when she attended the opening of her Early 20th Century Soviet Children's Books exhibition held at the University of Washington's Allen Library in Seattle. Unbeknownst to me at the time, Pamela was very ill and died the day before I wrote the post. She lived just long enough to receive a private family tour of her remarkable exhibit on July 1st, and quietly died at home on the following day. This exhibit was a dream Pamela had envisioned for many years. It was also her remaining wish that this rare collection of Soviet children's books was to permanently reside at the UW Library. Although much of her research was sadly eclipsed by her illness, Pamela Harer's collection of early 20th century Soviet children's literature remains intact and we can all benefit from her generous gift. At this time her collection has not been entirely digitized, however an earlier endowment of her rare 18th - 20th century children's literature can be seen here. Happily, the gift of books is everlasting. Happy holidays all!

The Greatest Cake on Earth

This edible oversized cake is nearly too sweet for words. It is a remarkable replica of one of the 20th century's greatest Russian children's books, Tsirk (Circus) written by Samuil Marshak and illustrated by Vladimir Lebedev. It is also the culinary creation of Eleanor Ionis of Ella's Cakes. In the publishing world, this book facsimile might be considered an infringement of intellectual property, but in this instance, she has artistic license to thrill. No detail was overlooked, including the headbands and page leaves. And just as every book has a story, this "greatest cake on earth" is no exception. 
     To honor the publication of a long-awaited book catalog and exhibition of early 20th century Soviet children's books, this magnificent cake was recently presented to book collector and author of the catalog, Pamela K. Harer by her husband, family and friends. Long an avid collector and scholar of early 19th and 20th century children's books, Pamela Harer has spent years researching and assembling this prized collection of Soviet children's literature, and beginning this week, her curated collection will be on display until October 24, 2014 at the Allen Library, University of Washington, Special Collections in Seattle. Both her collection and breadth of knowledge about these spectacular books are an achievement few others have gained, making it a highly recommended visit. Earlier this week I had a brief opportunity to see the exhibition, and I promise to report on it in much greater detail in coming weeks.

Like any great book, this one was devoured from beginning to end and will not be on display at the library. A 1928 edition of Tsirk (Circus) will do nicely in it's place however.

The poster for Harer's exhibition "From the Lowly Lubok to Soviet Realism" also features Lebedev's cover illustration. Below is a photo of Pamela Harer staring in stunned surprise at the presentation of her wondrous cake.

The Opening Exhibition of Camp Stories, Illustrated

It is a good thing this campfire wasn't any hotter, or it would melt the Letterology masthead above, making a sticky mess. As it was, the Camp Stories, Illustrated exhibit of my mother's and my own artwork, received a very warm and enthusiastic reception this past weekend at the opening, and I'm proud to say we may have set a world record for building the first publicly sanctioned bonfire and marshmallow roast in a university library. No books were burned in the process, I promise. 

I have to admit; setting up camp in any library is no easy task, but librarians are the best scouts you can imagine. Anything in need, they found it for me. I really want to thank Jane Carlin and her staff at the University of Puget Sound Collins Library in Tacoma for all of their accommodations while building the Camp Stories exhibit. The centerpiece of the exhibition was my campfire with roasting paper marshmallows, but more on that later.   



As I have described elsewhere in weeks past, this exhibit began with the stories of my mothers' childhood adventures spent living on Puget Sound, during the Hard Times of the Depression. Each Summer, the family of seven lived in a small, one-room beach house fondly referred to as "Camp". This was a time of neighbors-helping-neighbors and children who were free to run barefoot all Summer long. 

The image for the exhibition's poster originated from her joyful 11x14" illustration Swimming in the Rain as you can see above. Stepping back further, you can see my grandmother standing on the porch watching four of her young children playing in the water. This portrait sets the stage for over 30 more of her wide-eyed childhood drawings, each illustrated in 1983, at age 54. Her collective memories were all recorded in a journal which I discovered only after her death last January. All of her stories and drawings were produced within just one month, at the same time she was struggling with the increasing loss of her mobility after being diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. The drawings were produced with no motive of financial gain nor recognition, but only for her own personal growth. In the purest sense, this was art for art's sake. 

The rustic Camp house often overflowed with company every Sunday—sharing in a meal on the long front porch—as seen in another of her charcoal drawings below. My mother was the devil child in the middle who is being chastised by her father for clowning around during prayers. My grandmother, Mert is seen working away at the wood stove with dog, Spunky waiting for handouts.  

Most every image had a story accompanying it. For additional context, I sprinkled in a number of copied pages of her journal and early photographs from family members and various historical archives.

In this scene, my mother put herself in the image twice—in the foreground drawing, and on the bench looking out to the water. She also cut the roof open as an xray, to view the scene from above.  

Having Fun With This 

April 8, 1983

I want to do a night scene with the full moon coming over the bay—I want to draw us eating breakfast on the porch in the morning sun; the beds on the porch; the pillow fights we all had; the wood block and chopping wood. 

     I want to show the fear of the snakes coming up the path and how we'd throw rocks and wood sticks to chase them away. I want to draw a big bonfire and how we all sat around and roasted marshmallows and sang. I want to have us in a scene walking through Newell's property, Mrs. Garness and the cow, the milk house, the pasture and the barn I want to draw us on the bridge and dock waiting for the boat—the "Elsie C". 

     I want to show us going to first dock, the huge rocks we'd climb up on top of and the clay cliffs I want to draw the fire at 3rd dock and the ruins, the blackberry picking, Mert cooking in the kitchen. I want to draw rafts, the ocean liners coming from the Narrows, and the huge waves. 

     I want to draw the back of the Camp from looking down from up on the hillside. This is so exiting that I love it. 

     My childhood was active—I ran my legs off so it's no wonder I can't walk now. I never walked but ran full speed. I see now the body wears out from childhood and I need rest now I can write and reminisce forever but visual imagery is where it's at. 

     I can draw the boogeyman—the bears, the skunks, feeding the seagulls—we had wood to burn from the beach we had kerosene for light, a roof over our heads and a warm wood stove to heat on cold days. We had fresh water from the hillside spring, clams from the beach and fish from the sea. We had it all and life was rich even though we were poor. We never knew it.

My mother was essentially a self-trained artist who made her own rules of perspective, composition, style and technique, and her narrative line drawings reflect some of the raw, spontaneous folk artwork of outsider artists. Combined with the many stories accompanying them, I was delighted to see they brought enthusiastic responses and smiles to many at the opening reception this past weekend. For myself, it was an incredible journey I was able to make with my mother back to her family home in the 1930s, when she could still run free. I can't imagine a better collaboration. 

    The exhibition will continue through January 14th at the University of Puget Sound Collins Library in Tacoma, WA. Check website for the Library hours. Stay tuned for tomorrow when I will feature some of my own artworks from this exhibition.

Please Don't Eat the Library Paste

Eating library paste was a popular arts and crafts pastime when I was young. Maybe this explains why I love books so much. Made mostly of a vegetable starch such as flour and water, it was used on paper and paperboard as an adhesive binder. I recently discovered this Sanford's Library Paste jar in my travels and recognized it as one I had seen as a wood engraving from an early 20th century stationer's catalog I own. It now contains just the dried and crusty remains of the white paste.

The Sanford Manufacturing Company, makers of writing inks, adhesives and sealing wax, was founded in 1857 in Massachusetts. Five years after the company relocated to Chicago in 1866, their facilities were completely destroyed in the Great Chicago Fire. Eventually they relocated again and operations resumed.    
     The Sanford's Library Paste jar was curiously called "Utopian" because of their patented central chamber which kept the brush and paste in perfect condition, so long as the brush-well was kept half full of water. The paste was possibly a favorite among librarians, but it also gained popularity at home for use in photo albums, which was a growing trend about this same time period when the photography trade began to flourish.  

Some promotional materials for many of the Sanford's line of writing inks and adhesive products from Bottlebooks. Below is a 1928 advertisement for Sanford's most popular products from the Society of Historical Archaeology who provide listings for unearthed bottle types.

Sanford's Library Paste advertising cover from 1904, via Sheaff Ephemera.

I'm not making this up. This gravestone marker is from the Goldfield Pioneer Cemetery in Goldfield, Nevada. It marks the grave of the "Unknown Library Paste Man" who was a starving vagrant who dug up a tub of library paste out of the trash and consumed enough to be a lethal dose. In addition to the flour and water, the paste contained small amounts of alum, which is poisonous when consumed in large doses. Kids: Put down the library paste! Don't do this at home!