PDN - March 2012

very tactile materials to create unique works of art that
go so far beyond the machine-made book.”
When I decided to work with a bookbinder, I ventured
into the book arts community to do some research. I
contacted Inge Bruggeman, a letterpress printer, book
artist and binder whose stellar work I had seen in an ex-
hibition (we both live in Portland, Oregon). This meeting
was invaluable. She showed me books she had worked
on and explained how artists in other mediums were
publishing their own books. Through meeting with
Bruggeman I decided I wanted her to letterpress print
the two essays I wrote instead of inkjet print them.
Letterpress printing would add to the tactile quality of
the book, encourage viewers to touch the pages and feel
the impression of the text, and remind them that the
book had layers of craft beyond just my photographs.

Bruggeman also supplied me with a list of binders she recommended. “People have to see samples of a binder’s work,” Bruggeman says. “It takes a little sleuthing if you want really high-quality work, but I recommend that people go to book fairs, find people’s work that they like and ask them who their binder was. Also, contact schools that teach book arts and ask the professors if they have recommendations for professionals in the field.” (See sidebar: Resources for DIY Photo Book Publishers.)

I then phoned Vicki Topaz, one of the few photographers I knew who had successfully published a handmade book, Silent Nests. Topaz selected San Francisco binder John DeMerritt for her book. After meeting with DeMerritt multiple times, and seeing his studio and the incredible books and boxes he was producing for clients such as Michael Light and Robert Adams, I asked him to bind Displaced.

Although the choices for bindings are vast, DeMerritt and I felt that a traditional case-binding structure would not compete with the quiet and subtle images.

The next question to resolve was what materials to employ, with the interior paper being the biggest and most costly decision. In printing Displaced as well as the other handmade books I’ve made since, paper has been about 40 percent of the cost and the most difficult decision to make. So much rides on how the weight and texture of the paper will influence a reader’s impression of the work. I chose to print on a matte rag paper because I use it for exhibition prints and feel most familiar with it. It also further distinguishes Displaced from offset printed books since many don’t use matte paper.

Unfortunately, there aren’t many options for double-sided matte inkjet paper. There are double-sided versions of Hahnemühle’s Photo Rag; Moab’s Entrada line is available in two weights and shades; and Epson offers a few choices as well. I selected Moab’s Entrada Rag Bright White because I felt my prints simply looked best on it.

I have since discovered other options for paper, especially from large book arts suppliers like Hiromi Paper in Santa Monica, California, and Talas in New York City. For example, the paper I selected for my second book, Silence is an Orchard, was a single-sided, inkjet coated Japanese kozo paper from Hiromi that was a perfect complement to the mood of the black-and-white images I made in a field in Maine. I’ve also learned of other binding and folding techniques that can make working with single-sided papers easier, like French-folding or Japanese stab binding.

COSTS AND
FUNDRAISING

Design and budgeting should progress hand-in-hand so that a design decision that affects the budget can lead to the modification of other design or printing decisions to bring the budget back in line.

BO TH PHO TOS © QUIN TON GORDON

Because Displaced was my first book, I calculated pricing later than I should have. Once the design, binder, letterpress printer and materials were selected, I was able to get a more accurate picture of total cost. The only variable left was how many books to make.

Cost, print time and how many you think you can sell are the biggest factors to consider in determining an edition size. I settled on 60 for Displaced—which was about 40 books more than I would make if I were publishing the book today. (I now publish in editions of 20 because the cost and time required to make more copies limits my availability to work on other projects.)

At 60, the total cost for everything was $7,500. I barely had $500. A few fundraising ideas surfaced: First, Bruggeman recommended I apply for a grant; second, I asked for sponsorship from a local photo supply business; and third, I publicized and marketed the book to generate pre-sales.

I secured a nearly $5,000 grant, which covered two-thirds of the cost to publish the book, from the local arts organization Regional Arts & Culture Council. The smaller pool of competition for the grant increased my chances of winning, but the application process did take some time. For example, having to answer the question, “How will publishing this book affect your artistic career?,” in a few sentences required hours and hours of editing and redrafting. I also needed a firm grasp of the costs, a list of exhibitions already planned that would