As a contemporary art archivist, I remain a "sponge," as, I mentioned in my last blog. I am not in a hurry, nor do I chase after things; I allow myself to be guided by my discoveries, readings, conversations, and reflections, as I know that these, first and foremost, serve as my guide. I don't know how else to express it: I like (to believe?) that ideas for this project come to me rather than the other way around. This week, an informal lecture by designer and graphic artist Odilon Coutarel at the library of the Maison Européenne de la Photographie in Paris, greatly inspired me for the project.
I have been (and continue to be) trained in art history from my undergraduate studies to the present at the doctoral level. In the classical corpus of art history training, books rarely appear as a central subject. Art historians work with books daily, flipping through and reading them, but we seldom consider them as "objects of study" on par with a work or a sculpture — and this is even more the case for contemporary books. Indeed, the form of the "book" is not at the core of our concerns. Thus, apart from a course I took in 2018 on the history of the book, I have little knowledge of the subject. Hence, this encounter with Odilon Coutarel immediately caught my attention.
I would like to use this post to freely reflect on what a book signifies and does for the reader through their gestures and perceptions, drawing on this enriching event with Coutarel to support my observations. Born in 1994, Odilon Coutarel works primarily in artistic publishing, book design, catalogues, and various editions for artists, with particular attention to printing and production processes.
Presentation of Odilon Coutarel. Video: Anaïs Auger-Mathurin. September 12, 2024.
I greatly appreciated how Coutarel defines himself as a "book maker" (metteur en livre). Like a "stage director" (metteur en scène), he organizes and positions the "book" before its publication: he prepares the manuscript, considers its formatting, creates mock-ups, and coordinates the exchanges between the wishes and needs of the artists with whom he collaborates, his own aspirations and design principles, and the printer's possibilities. Thus, a book maker, but also a mediator of ideas and desires.
Through his presentation, which lasted just over an hour, Coutarel introduced us to several book experiments he has conducted since his studies at the Haute École des Arts du Rhin and his Master's at the École des Arts Décoratifs, which I found highly inspiring. I understood that one of the driving forces behind his work is to break away from the expected standards of the book. Let's think about it! Binding, printing, paper choice, typeface, cover, and page layout are all elements of the "book" that can be manipulated and subverted.
"The book, born from the fold, searches for itself, united with its message," writes Michel Melot. Indeed, there is a "book" as soon as there is a "fold." Ultimately, the simple architecture and anatomy of the book make it, it seems to me, even more difficult to question and rework its norms. Yes, paradoxically, its simplicity makes it so complex. How does one rethink a form of the codex, which has functioned for over 2000 years? How does one rethink the fold, the page, the binding, and the arrangement of pages? Coutarel offered us some intriguing experimental paths. Here are those I retained, which could guide the design of the future book with Nil.
Interpages
In one of his publications, Coutarel explored the concept of "interpages": what does it mean to be between the pages? Can one create an interpages? Coutarel proposes to give substance to this expression through two experiments.
Odilon Coutarel’s “interpages.” Photograph: Anaïs Auger-Mathurin. September 12, 2024.
In the above photo, do you see the unique fold of the page that places the viewer between two pages?
A page within a page? Simple and brilliant.
These are hidden texts that are only discoverable by a keen eye or perhaps a curious hand.
Alternatively, observe above how the viewer finds themselves "inside" a page. Images are deliberately "trapped" in an undefined space. Isn't this the perfect place to "hide" something?
Leafing Through Differently
When reading a book, the movement of the hand or finger is often the same, repetitive, and unconscious. What if I told you that by arranging the pages differently and playing with the folds of the sheet, the book designer had control over the movement of your hand? To illustrate this idea, Coutarel presented a particular book: Kamaitachi by Eikoh Hosoe, published in Japan in 1969. Opening this (magnificent) book exposes the viewer to a mass of blue pages—a vivid and piercing blue, deep-sea color. At first glance, no photographs are visible — only infinite blue. The fact is that this blue obscures all the photos: each page, without exception, must be unfolded. An unnatural movement is imposed on the reader by the book's design. I don't know about you, but considering the book from the perspective of gesture, and especially the power it can have over our reading gesture, was a first for me.
Kamaitachi by Eikoh Hosoe (1969)
Details
Some books presented by Coutarel also left a mark on me due to their details. I think, for example, of this "marked" text on the page or the use of Japanese or more textured paper to give the book a crafted feel.
Photograph: Anaïs Auger-Mathurin. September 12, 2024
Or the way it is possible to interrupt the reading, disturb it, and thus influence it.
The agency of the book?
In short, I want to share my reflections and the various avenues for book design. As Odilon Coutarel has repeatedly asserted, physical constraints, such as the printer's capabilities, sometimes hinder the realization of an idea. I, too, wish to embrace these formal experimentation "games" for Nil's future book. Shouldn't the book also step out of the box for an artist who has always thought outside the box? My next question will, therefore, be: should we consider the book on Nil's archives as an artist's book?
Flipping through Universal Tongue by Anouk Kruithof (2022). Video: Anaïs Auger-Mathurin. September 12, 2024
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