I’ve been having a lovely time over at follow the yellow brick road posting all sorts of nonsense, but today I decided to wander back over here for a change. Not, I hasten to add, because I plan to say anything intellectual, but perhaps because I am going to say something about books, more specifically, visual art books. There’s a little back story to this, so bear with me for a moment...
Up until six months ago, I worked as the manager of a lovely visual arts bookshop. It was my baby: I set it up and I ran it, doing more or less everything myself from organising book events to stock control. Like most jobs, it had its good points, and its bad points, but by far the best thing about it was the books themselves, and their sheer loveliness. I have always had a thing for visual arts books. Don’t get me wrong, I love all books, all of them, even the sad, dog-eared paperbacks in charity shops that no one wants. But there is something extra special about visual arts books: the beautifully shiny pages, the glossy photographs, the strokable covers. They may not be the sort of books you read avidly all the time, but they are such a treat to look at and to own.
I loved ordering the books, and loved it even more when the parcels arrived addressed to me: big fat brown cardboard boxes that I had to lug up two flights of stairs. It was like getting presents every day: opening the boxes, with polystyrene balls flying everywhere, felt almost like Christmas. Out came lovely, brand new books, each a perfect objet d’art in itself, wrapped in cellophane or sometimes neatly in thick brown paper. And then, possibly even more fun, I got to arrange them on the shelves.
I now have a different job - a fantastic job, which also has much to do with both visual arts and literature/books, and has many delights of its own. However, what I have realised recently is that I am really missing the books, and so I thought I might perhaps use this rather sad and neglected little blog as a space to ramble on about visual arts books - and catalogues and zines and publications and all the other wonderful, pretty things out there, partly just to indulge myself as much as anything else. Of course, I'll still be posting over at follow the yellow brick road about other important matters such as writing and exhibitions and red shoes that I like. But I think this will be fun too.
Up until six months ago, I worked as the manager of a lovely visual arts bookshop. It was my baby: I set it up and I ran it, doing more or less everything myself from organising book events to stock control. Like most jobs, it had its good points, and its bad points, but by far the best thing about it was the books themselves, and their sheer loveliness. I have always had a thing for visual arts books. Don’t get me wrong, I love all books, all of them, even the sad, dog-eared paperbacks in charity shops that no one wants. But there is something extra special about visual arts books: the beautifully shiny pages, the glossy photographs, the strokable covers. They may not be the sort of books you read avidly all the time, but they are such a treat to look at and to own.
I loved ordering the books, and loved it even more when the parcels arrived addressed to me: big fat brown cardboard boxes that I had to lug up two flights of stairs. It was like getting presents every day: opening the boxes, with polystyrene balls flying everywhere, felt almost like Christmas. Out came lovely, brand new books, each a perfect objet d’art in itself, wrapped in cellophane or sometimes neatly in thick brown paper. And then, possibly even more fun, I got to arrange them on the shelves.
I now have a different job - a fantastic job, which also has much to do with both visual arts and literature/books, and has many delights of its own. However, what I have realised recently is that I am really missing the books, and so I thought I might perhaps use this rather sad and neglected little blog as a space to ramble on about visual arts books - and catalogues and zines and publications and all the other wonderful, pretty things out there, partly just to indulge myself as much as anything else. Of course, I'll still be posting over at follow the yellow brick road about other important matters such as writing and exhibitions and red shoes that I like. But I think this will be fun too.
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