The Bookmaking Process

I recently resumed my old hobby of bookbinding. I taught myself from this book originally; so far I’ve made probably 4 or 5 books, each one a little more confident and a little less messy than the one before. However, until this most recent book, I was quite out of practice. But as I’ve just turned 30, I’ve been inspired on many fronts to stop putting things off and resume the things that actually make me happy. So I thought it might be in order to bind a new sketchbook for myself, both as a way of getting myself drawing again and as a practice run before I start making books to sell on Etsy.

The process took about a week, start to finish, and while I documented each step on Twitter, I thought a comprehensive post might be helpful to those of you with an interest in how books used to get made. I’ll also make a few observations about the process and notes to myself to prevent some pretty obvious mistakes in the future. This is not meant to be a completely instructive guide, but I hope it will inspire those of you with an interest in such things to look into this craft further.

The first step in bookbinding is folding up signatures – there is no set number of how many sheets you should choose per signature, but I have always found 4 to be a good number. Too many, and folding becomes unnecessarily difficult. Too few and it’ll take forever.

Folding signatures is simply a matter of holding the edges in alignment as best you can, and creasing the edge. Bone folders work nicely for this, and can be found at most crafts stores for cheap. There is probably a fancier way to do it than just holding it by hand, but the imperfection that results from this process is part of the appeal (you can tell the old handmade books by the unevenness of the edges). For this project I decided on 10 signatures, which ought to result in an 80-page sketchbook, minus the front and back pages which would become endsheets.

It is helpful to etch a number at the inner corner of each signature, and while certainly not necessary, it adds to the handmade quality of it all.
The next step is to mark the signatures up for sewing. You use a woven tape to strengthen the spine of the book (another inexpensive item, easily found), and some sturdy thread. As far as how many pieces of tape to use, it is a matter of personal preference. The rule of thumb is that the more you have, the more evenly the stress will be distributed on the spine. This book being 8.5″x11″, I found 5 tapes to be sufficient. The tapes themselves are 3/8″, so you mark 5 sets of 1/2″ points along the spine to allow a bit of breathing room for each tape, as well as an entry/exit hole on both sides, where the thread will connect each signature to the next.

The next stage is probably the most fun – piercing and sewing.

Again, the guidebook suggests some fancy kits and equipment for piercing holes in the signatures, but I’ve found that you can get by just fine with two awls and two wine corks (synthetic ones are especially good). You take each signature, tap the edge to make sure it’s aligned, and place the cork inside it underneath the first marking. Pierce it with the awl, and then pierce the next spot while the first awl holds the alignment.

Working this way makes it easy to keep things orderly, and you just rotate or swap wine corks as need be.
When all the signatures are properly pierced it will look like this:

Next comes the fun part – sewing. I won’t go into too much detail here about knots and tying threads together; for the sake of understanding it is only important that you cut yourself a 30″ thread to start with, tie a triple or quadruple knot at the end so it’ll hold, and start sewing. Each signatures gets bound to the previous one with a kettlestitch, and after a few have been sewn together it becomes easy to thread in the tapes (which have been cut into roughly 4″ strips – the projected width of the book plus some length for attaching boards later on). You could sew the tapes in from the get-go; again, personal preference. As you run out of thread, cut yourself a new 30″ strand and tie them together (another one of those imperfections that give it the handmade touch – you can see all this inside the book when it’s finished).

When it’s all done you tie it off at the end, leaving another thick knot to prevent it from slipping out.

One tool that you absolutely cannot do without in this process is a good set of clamps. I use the Irwin 6″ Quick-Grip Minis. They are wonderfully easy to use and having several of them allows a good control over the work.

Once the signatures are securely tied together, you line it all up straight against the spine and clamp it down securely. Getting them properly aligned is crucial here, as we are about to start playing with glue.

The first thing to be attached is called the mull. It’s made of this thick, cheesecloth-like paper, and can be found in any crafts store. It is stiff but really absorbent, and acts as both the first reinforcement of the spine and the material that will bind the signatures to the boards. You cut the mull to cover both kettlestitches, and leave about an inch and a half on each side of the spine. It gets pretty heavily glued into the signatures; the clamp keeps the glue from seeping into the pages and the mull, once dry, will hold the spine in place.

Each stage at this point has to be accompanied by a good bit of waiting while the glue dries. Once the mull is securely glued on, the next step is to attach the boards. Typically 3 boards are cut: front, back, and spine. The tapes sewn into the signatures give the back of the book a bumpy feel, but I like to just soften this with a few layers of fabric instead of giving it a hard spine.

Once the boards have been cut properly, you cover the pages of the book with a few sheets of scratch paper to shield them (all steps from here on out are accompanied by protective scratch paper). Then the mull is brushed wet with the glue, and each board is pressed down onto it. It is crucial that the boards are attached correctly, edges hanging evenly over all sides of the paper. You have a small window of time to check this while the glue is still wet, and fiddle with it if necessary. With this book, I didn’t quite get them lined up. You wouldn’t see it unless you were looking for it, but the boards lean in slightly different directions. And while imperfection has its charm, getting this step right makes the remainder of the process go smoother.

This is a big step, so you check your alignment again and then place the book under weights.

Once this is done, it is time to put the cover paper on. The manual instructs you to measure the total height and width of the book laid open, with about 1/4″ extra material on all sides. I’ve found it to be helpful to double this, to give you a little leeway in case you’ve screwed up. It is better to have to cut down later than be short of material after the glue is applied.

Once the cover paper is cut, you lay it face down and mark up exactly where each board will go, and draw the spine in as well. In my case, I cut 3 matching strips of fabric to layer in.

Whether you’re using cardboard or fabric, the material that constitutes the book’s spine gets glued to the cover paper, not the signatures. This creates a bit of flexibility and it will be plenty secure once the front and back boards have been attached.

One more note: at this point, little additions such as headbands should be added; once the cover paper is on it is difficult to add anything. For headbands you just cut two short strips slightly longer than the width of the book, paste them so they hang just over the edges of the top and bottom, and let it dry. Things like bookmark ribbons should be put in earlier, glued in between the signatures and the mull.

You brush the cover paper down with glue, working outwards to keep things smooth. Start with one side, press the front cover board down into it, and check the alignment. You wait half an hour, turn it over, and do the same to the back. Once this is done you hope you’ve got it lined up correctly, and wait some more. Once the front and back are glued, it’s best to glue down the edges as well. You brush them down, and folder them over the edges. Once it’s dried, it looks like this:

Since this is going to be a sketchbook, I decided to cut up a brochure for the Center for Cartoon Studies to use as endsheets. Generally speaking, it’s wiser to use something a bit sturdier; there is a specific kind of fibrous paper that is best suited for endsheets. Another mistake I made with this book was using separate pieces of paper for the left and right sheets on each side of the book: in traditional bookmaking, one large sheet is used for each side. In the case of an 8 1/2″ x 11″ book, you’d cut out two 17″ x 11″ sheets. The endsheets are both protective and give the book a more finished look by covering the rough edges of the folded-over cover paper.

Using individual sheets, I just pressed each one into the recesses of the book as best I could. The reason you generally use one large sheet for both sides instead of two is that the constant opening and closing of the book will quickly cause peeling at the base. When you glue endsheets properly, you glue down the one side, use a bone folder to force it as deep into the crease as possible, and then glue down the other half. With no break between them, it holds together much more sturdily. But this was a practice run, so there you are.

Once everything has dried, the book is more or less complete. There will be a few tips that need re-gluing and smoothing out, and sometimes glue will have found it’s way into the edges of some signatures (going through the book page-by-page is a good way to smooth this out). As before, this was a practice run, and I made much more of a mess of things than I would have liked – I got several glue spots on the cover paper, and the split endsheets don’t look as nice as if they’d been one solid sheet. The beauty of the process, of course, is that every one is different and you learn a few things each time.

I put the finishing touch on with a Pixel Heart sticker from Diesel Sweeties.

Et voilà:

And that is that. I hope this was somewhat interesting and informative. Thank you for reading!

a story a day

hello all.
in case you were unawares there is a little writing exercise called Story-a-Day happening all month over at storyaday.org and i am doing it. you can follow along on the blog here.

Untitled #1

The Holocene is a dark place. The bar on the left is shrouded in shadowy whispering figures and before you opens up a massive dance floor with crumbling beige curtains blocking the windows and small, barely-there lights that float in darkness like low-watt stars. Past the main area it splits into a hallway on the left and a door leading into the showroom. The doorway was bulging with standers and beyond a small sea of people were seated as droning feedback and indiscernible vocals flowed out. This was Grouper.

Midway down the hall another door opened up to a smaller room on the left. It looked like a meditation room of sorts. There was a small wooden table in the center with a barely-visible oil candle burning away, and four simple benches lining their respective walls. A dim bulb hung still in the air, suspended in space. The far wall had been painted a detailed swirl, which was right at home in this dark little space. I perched for a moment behind others looking in at the show through the leftside door, then walked into the smaller room and sat down. Music like this is not so much about being seen as just listened to. Why was no one else in here?

I leaned back against a wall and closed my eyes, drinking water, considering the room. Before the citywide smoking ban, this had been a curtained haven for smokers to congregate, making it the worst concentration of fumes you could imagine. A couple bars I’d been to had been particularly smoky, but a room this size got real bad real fast. I marveled at what a change the air quality had wrought on it. The whole place had become something entirely lovely. I wanted to rent it out as a surrogate bedroom. If I could just get rid of the bar…

Part of not drinking in a place that serves booze means not feeling that you can really be anywhere for too long. I picked up and went back to the main area determined to order a coke, did so, and sat down at a table overlooking the dance floor. A pretty girl was sitting at the table next to mine, looking uneasy and fidgeting. I sat there looking at the different clusters of people and trying not look at any of them too long and then coming back to my coke. This girl in front of me was dressed nice – she had clearly done herself up, and I wondered if this was a normal thing or if she had made a particular evening of it, and I felt just how out of touch I’d become. My sense of what normal people did at bars, how they dressed, what they came for, what they expected and what they got when it was over had drifted away. I looked on at them now as if studying some alien race in the field. The only bitch of it was feeling my own solitude by seeing their lack of it, and I lost much of myself just by being there.

The music ended and there was applause, and then the shuffle began. I walked in to the performance area and scanned for a seat. I found one between a group of people and a girl sitting alone. I asked if I could sit down and she slid over a bit and I sat. In my state I started to think that this was probably the most I would talk to anyone all night and perhaps I should try to talk some more, but it did not come and so I sat there thinking about how to keep my posture from collapsing into something painful and looking around at the different groups of people. An Eluvium show is a fairly specialized thing; this is not a band you casually drop in on. Everyone here had to share some love of these modern hymns, this sacred, reflective music. It followed that there should be some implicit communal bond between us all, just for being there, and I looked around to see if anyone else felt it. But no one seemed to and it was just a bunch of people at a show and I gave up the search. It is a strange thing when the things that we hold most dear – a record or a film or a book – should be equally loved by another, and yet we may have nothing in common with that person at all. Looking around the room, I probably had more in common with most of them than I’d like to admit. But sitting between and amongst them I felt as removed as I ever did during the long hours and days holed up in my bedroom, living out my own little story. The only difference was it was slightly more comfortable to be alone.

Thirty minutes into the show I began to feel tired, so I got up and walked to the merch table and bought a couple LPs and shuffled out the door. It was no good to stay for its own sake. You just make yourself more tired and more sad and plus it was good to be back in the open air. I walked home. Tomorrow I would listen to the LPs and enjoy them and life would go on. I would make good coffee and work and feel like myself again.

That was enough.

Playing a Man’s Game

I suited up and spent the better part of twenty minutes trying to get my tie right and then to take a satisfactory photograph of myself. I downloaded a timer app to attempt time-delay shots and had no luck with them either. I noticed a few burgeoning zits on the right upper lip of my mouth, and destroyed them. Naturally this would occur right before a photoshoot.

Every picture told the same story. Concern showed heavy on my face. I could stare at a mirror, calm and confident, smiling. Seeing the face I wanted others to see. But once I trained the camera on myself and attempted a frozen frame, I inherited that expression that marks all amateur photography: the look of doubt.

I abandoned the quest shortly thereafter and headed out into the night.

I walked with the iPad tucked under my arm and cycled through a few attempts at reading it before I finally clicked it off walking down the long uneven dark of Ladd Avenue, with its narrow sidewalk and broken pavement. LED devices completely blind you in the darkness, and take away even your most basic sense of balance and navigation; I have on more than one occasion stumbled into the grass before I realized what was happening.

Out in the open light of Hawthorne and 12th I resumed my book, and passed the walk through the quiet streets with the history of ancient Greek philosophers. My hands were cold and I turned them periodically to keep the blood going. Why didn’t I bring gloves?

A few blocks from El Gaucho I got my first iPad catcall of the night from a bum across the street from me, so I put it away and walked the rest of the way in silence and preparation. I pushed through the outer doors and then through a second set into a dark and quiet room. The hostess glanced at me and I explained that I was looking for some folks who were probably already here and that I’d make my way. Being a host, you tend to appreciate the customers who already know where they’re going. I spotted them and thanked her and walked to the bar.

It was a small group and they were drinking some kind of champagne. Since I quit drinking I have been offered booze on several occasions by friends, and I was being offered some now. I thanked them and declined and ordered a Kaliber and a burger from the bar, and sat down. They had already procured a plate of fancy oysters – the name escapes me – and I thought that now was as good a time as any to try this particular dish.

It was clean and fresh and not overly fishy, as I had feared oysters would be. They were quality oysters. I drank my faux-beer and sat on my chair and watched the various groups chat with one another. When people who work together get together socially, it invariably results in shop talk, but I just wanted to sit there and enjoy the ambiance of the place.

Half an hour later it had come the time for the true purpose of the evening: for the men to adjourn to the Cigar Room to properly celebrate Kyle’s birthday. We left the ladies at the bar and made our way into a smaller room, adorned with leather chairs and a few tables and a massive TV screen in one corner playing recaps of various sports games that had taken place that day. We settled at a round table and were brought waters. El Gaucho had a menu of cigars they offered, but Kyle had come prepared with a box of very quality cigars, and he gave us each one. After cutting the tips and making a few remarks, we lit them up and the evening was engaged.

As we smoked I was barely aware of having to try to fit in. The conversation was natural; industry people talking about the industry. I mostly listened but it occurred to me a few times how I felt comfortable enough to speak as a proper member of this group instead of feeling like a child amongst adults. I do not know if it was the cigars and the feel of the place or my familiarity with my companions but I had dressed the part and was smoking at a reasonable pace so I felt pretty at home. I was drinking good ice water; and it was true what they said, that cognac with cigars was good, but there was nothing like ice water when you were smoking a cigar.

It was around two-thirds of the way through my cigar that I began to feel lightheaded and no longer myself. This was to be expected. The smoke in the room was thick and I had started to lose track of the conversation. More and more I was aware only of not being myself and that voice in my gut was telling me I’d had enough and I ought to put the thing down and prepare to make my way home. Really? Was I that much a lightweight that one cigar would do me in? I felt a bit silly to be so unseasoned; then again there were a number of possible factors. Unlike most industry people I had been up since that morning and had spent the day moving furniture around. Circadian rhythm was telling me it was past my bedtime; it stood to reason.

Twenty minutes later I knew it was time, so I finished my ice water and said goodbye to everyone. All this time I could only think that if I could just get outside I would be okay and probably not pass out – the smoke had turned my head light and my guts upside down. I walked out of the restaurant, focusing on moving slowly and calmly and not appearing impaired. I pushed through the double doors onto the streets of downtown Portland; I felt better as the cold night air hit my face, and I started the long trudge home.

There is a point in the film Iron Man where Tony Stark is testing his new device’s capability by flying as high into the atmosphere as he can manage. At the highest point his suit is gripped by ice crystals and he loses most of his power, beginning to fall back to earth. As I walked home that night I felt as if I had reached that point. I was operating at forty percent power; if someone had spoken to me then they’d have been greeted with incoherent mumblings. I knew the road, I didn’t have to think about it. Just go through the motions, go through the motions.

I set my body to autopilot and let it carry me home.

Stickman Comics

so I drew this today. one of those things where you have an idea and if you don’t get it down right away it’ll probably never get done.

the Stickman is a character I like to use when I don’t want to worry about the art. john campbell has made a pretty good career out of using him, and aaron diaz uses him sometimes as well. he once told me that Stickman was universal – even though he’s the simplest character, everyone will draw him a little differently. anyway!

oh hey

it is not lost on me that the last comic I posted on here referred to the importance of making things on a daily basis, and was followed by a month of silence. I have been working a little, but mostly suffering in that self-indulgent state of fauxparalysis that happens when you’re somewhat happy with something you’ve done or when people say they like it. kiss of death.
I know well enough that blogs that update only a few times a month, or even once every few months, are useless blogs. I would not visit such a blog. there is a fine line to be maintained, and I am not very good about finding a balance between drawn-out, overwrought missives and hyperfrantic 3-times-a-day updates, like a Twitter feed on a good day. let me neither abandon you nor spam you to death.
that said, I’m working on getting back into the following good (old) habits: cartooning, doodling, writing. there is this mental division that exists when you’re working on a thing you know isn’t anywhere near finished (indeed you don’t even know what finished would look like) and so you withhold it because it isn’t ready for public eyes. nothing ever is. so I am going to attempt to replace this bad habit with a better one by just going ahead and posting daily (okay, maybe 3 times a week, we’ll see) stuff as I go along.
you are right to be skeptical as I have made many such resolutions / promises before and dropped them all. guilty. what’s past is past, and we keep trying. however I am pretty serious on my end about wanting to keep up with it this time around, so if you want to keep me on my toes by letting me know that I am slipping, send all correspondence to:
david wood
2120 se hemlock ave
portland or 97214

thank you in advance. here we go