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antuhsa
Anyway, last Saturday was an apocalyptic rain day and I had to go to the post office, so I took my umbrella and ventured out. I actually really enjoy walking in the rain with an umbrella. It always makes me feel like I’m on my own in a tent, listening to the sound of raindrops falling on my roof. Very cosy! Unfortunately, it was raining so hard that day, that I was soaking wet from the waist down after just a 20-minute walk despite the umbrella. It was ok though. I didn’t actually bring it to protect myself from the rain. No, I wanted to protect my backpack. I had very valuable cargo in there, you see. Something that really couldn’t get wet: a book.
The book
The book I had with me was the one from the picture above. I found it years ago. It caught my attention because of the beautiful art deco cover design, so I took it with me. Fortunately, I got the book for free, because I quickly found out the story inside was utter garbage. I still really liked the cover, however, and played with the idea to make another book out of it. There was just one problem: I was studying Art Conservation.
Why was that a problem? Well, like all my classmates, I was living and breathing conservation ethics at the time, so the idea of dismantling an object for fun was almost physically painful. I actually specialised in furniture, not books, but I was still aware of the value of books and treated them very carefully. Unsure about what to do, I took the book to my teacher (a soft-spoken, well-dressed, middle-aged man) and asked him whether it was ethical to take it apart. He took a good look at it, skim-read a few pages, looked back at me with a glint in his eyes, and spoke the memorable words: “This text should absolutely not be saved for the future.” Grinning, I tore the text block out of the cover under his approving gaze.
For the next two years, the broken book would move from desk, to floor, to shelf, while I dropped out of furniture conservation, battled existential depression and navigated the pitfalls of working life. Until I finally found a reason to kick my arse into gear and do something with the old cover. I have a cousin who often sends me bits and pieces of beautiful paper she finds on her travels, and I wanted to send her something in return. She’s an artist, so a sketchbook with a lovely, art deco cover design seemed just the thing for her. High time to bring out the bookbinding tools again.
Because I liked the cover so much, I wanted it to be the focus of the book, so my binding had to be subtle. I liked the idea of adding something to the original design, but without drawing the attention away from it. I considered a few different binding methods, but eventually settled on good old Coptic. I had removed the spine of the book, so the connection between front and back cover was missing (on a design level). The Coptic stitch would allow me to bring that back. 
For the actual binding, I folded some signatures out of blank paper and dyed cotton thread in the same colour of red as the lines already on the cover (it ended up a little bit darker, but I came close enough) and used that to sew with. I used a curved needle, because I find that to be the most practical for the Coptic stitch, and made sure to tighten the thread as I went along. The Coptic stitch isn’t difficult, but it’s a non-adhesive binding method, so it’s important to get the thread tension right. Not too loose, for obvious reasons, but also not too tight, or the book won’t close anymore. When I was happy with it, I tied the thread off and that’s all there was to this project. This is the simplest binding I’ve done in a while, but I really like the result. I sent it to my cousin on that rainy Saturday. She has already received it and is very happy with it!
The future of my bookbinding (insecurities included)
Since I’m writing about bookbinding anyway, this is a good time to announce that I have news about the future of my bookbinding! As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been taking bookbinding classes for two years. Those classes were very laid-back and low-pressure, however, to the point that ‘bookbinding under supervision’ would be a better name for what I did there than ‘taking classes’. I could have gone to them for the rest of my life and I would have become a better bookbinder over the years, but my progress would have been slow and I’d probably never have felt as if I truly knew what I was doing. I realised a while ago that if I really wanted to become better, I’d have to look into other options. So I did and ended up applying for an actual bookbinding programme! This one is structured, with exams, and I’ll be allowed to call myself a professional bookbinder after graduation. So yeah, this is the real deal. I’ve received all the information recently, the first class will be in a few weeks, and I’m very excited!
I’d lie if I said I wasn’t also nervous and scared, however. I have a life-long history of discovering a new shiny hobby, immersing myself in it for a few months, losing interest and moving on to the next thing. I’ve done so many things, been involved in so many clubs and societies, and taken so many classes, that keeping my CV to just two pages when I’m sending out job applications is a struggle. I’ve always loved this hobby-hopping, but as I grew older, my parents were growing increasingly more worried about it. They started giving me long speeches about my ‘commitment issues’ every time I visited them, and stopped listening when I enthusiastically talked about my newest hobbies, or mentioned ideas for whichever new company I wanted to set up. I wish I could say that it didn’t affect me, but it absolutely did, to the point that I almost didn’t dare do anyhing new anymore because I knew I’d disappoint everyone when I quit that new thing again. My parents have recently received a stern talking to from a gifted coach and haven’t given me ‘the speech’ since, but the fear and doubt on my part are still there and they’re coming back full-force now I’m trying something new again. True, bookbinding itself isn’t new to me. I’ve been doing it on and off for almost four years now, which is almost an eternity for my track-record, so all the more reason for me to wonder how long this is going to last. What if I lose interest in bookbinding in a few months? What would that mean for some of my current friendships and fandom interactions? Will my parents be disappointed in me again if I quit? What if I don’t have it in me to commit to anything long-term? Will I ever be able to have a fulfilling life/career if that’s the case?
I realise these questions might sound overly dramatic to some, but I’ve very good reason to doubt myself so. I’ve been in this position before, you know, that I loved a hobby and committed to doing it more seriously, only to lose interest in it practically overnight. That hobby was woodworking, the commitment studying Furniture Conservation. Now there are many reasons for why that programme wasn’t the place for me. I’d eventually have dropped out even if I had continued to love woodworking. Nevertheless, I didn’t and the consequences of that were unpleasant. I officially unenrolled only a year ago, after almost a 2 year fight, so the whole situation is still fresh in my mind, and it’s not strange that I’m weary of potentially entering a similar situation again.
Except that I’m trying to keep in mind that the situation won’t be similar. The most important difference is that I entered Furniture Conservation with the idea of making a career out of it. Studying it wasn’t just fun, it was dead serious. I had to invest in the best tools, work my hardest every day, and try to connect with the most important people in the field. If I thought that that one teacher was an awful human being, I had to smile at him anyway, because I might need him as a reference at some point in the future. If I developed a huge dislike for scrapers after using them for hours every day, I’d better swallow it, because I’d be working with them for the next 45 years. There isn’t a lot of room for doubt if you’re pursuing plan A and don’t have a plan B, so I hid and hid and hid it. Contrary to that, I did not sign up for the bookbinding programme with the idea of making a career out of bookbinding. It’ll be fun to be able to call myself a professional at the end of it, but it’s not my goal. All I want is to get better. I just want to experiment, have fun, see how far I can stretch myself. And if I don’t pass the exam, or decide not to take it at all, no big deal. My future income won’t be on the line. I bet it will make a world of difference if I approach the bookbinding programme this way.
The second difference is that I had Art Conservation classes every day from 9 to 5 and when I came home, after a long commute, I still had homework. I was truly living and breathing Art Conservation at the time, no room for other hobbies, no room for variety. It drove me into serious depression, until I stopped doing most of my homework and skipped classes just so I would have the time to do something else. These bookbinding classes, on the other hand, are only one evening a week. I’ll have to do some work at home, but there will still be plenty of time to pursue other interests. And, once again, I think that will make a world of difference. Enough difference that I might be able to finish this programme. 
So these are my insecurities about bookbinding and my method for dealing with them. Most importantly, however, I’m trying to tell myself there’s no point in worrying so much about the future. Maybe I will finish the programme and discover that I can commit to something long-term. In that case, there won’t be any problems. And if I don't finish it, if end up getting bored with bookbinding halfway through, then that’s the way it is and I’ll deal with it when the time comes. For now, however, I’m really looking forwards to the programme. The first class will be about bookbinding tools and the grain direction of paper. Very basic stuff. But, to my own surprise, I couldn’t be more excited!