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NY Art Book Fair at MoMA PS 1

werkplaats typografie

Fall doesn’t really begin for me until Printed Matter’s NY Art Book Fair at PS 1. I go every year, and every year it seems like it’s better than the year before.

Something about literacy seems to encourage a particular kind of hob-nobbing, cheerful flamboyance. This year the ambience of fearless bonhomie is perhaps due at least in part to M. Wells , currently in between locations, serving up excellent snacks in the PS1 café.

The first time I went I seem to recall being able to get through the entire thing opening night, despite spending quite some time with a publisher from Pennsylvania who had brought a small collection of large, smooth rocks to keep him company during the fair. It was the extremely pleasant discussion of the life story and occupations of these rocks that made me linger at his table far longer than could be considered efficient. But even without such unhoped for, impossible to imagine opportunity for uplift, in recent years, between the sheer quantity of wonderful things to look at, not to mention interesting people to talk to, it takes me several hours just to get through the zines, requiring more than one visit. Worse things can happen.

While I use a bike to get to the fair, I don’t usually expect to Levitra find anything like Jenny Lin’s Skinny Leg, a hair-raising, and page-raising, pop-up book and zine that tells the story of her bicycle accident and how she lived to ride again. Her pop-up engineering is great and full of imaginatioon, so not surprisingly, we found out we are both fans of Sam Ita. She has one of his books, and I have all of them.

Jenny’s book is published by the excellent B&D Press  back at the fair with a new Judith Butler zine in their series “The Life and Times of Butch Dykes  a “series of fanzines about the lives and times of amazing women”

It would take all day to mention everything noteworthy, thrilling and delightful, such as Louis M. Schmidt , Cinders Gallery , Fantasy Camp, just to mention a few–but I’d rather get back to the fair for an egg sandwich and a closer look at what’s new from Picturebox.

Bike parking would be nice at some point. Meanwhile, I’m making a note to myself to remember, on a day when our species has got me down: there are way, way more book lovers than there are parking meters and bus stop signs in Queens.

 

The Republic of Bicycle Utopia with ArtCrank at Interbike!

The Republic of Bicycle Utopia

 

Here at Bicycle Utopia we are thrilled Propecia to have been a part of ArtCrank’s poster exhibition at Interbike in Las Vegas last week!

Tolstoy’s Chores

In the New York Times Magazine of September 15:

The author of “War and Peace” took his first bicycling lesson at age 67, only a month after the death of his 7-year-old son, Vanichka. He was still grieving, and the Moscow Society of Velocipede-Lovers provided him a free bike and instruction along the garden paths on his estate. He became a devotee, taking rides after his morning chores. “Count Leo Tolstoy . . . now rides the wheel,” declared Scientific American in 1896, “much to the astonishment of the peasants on his estate.” A close friend noted: “Tolstoy has learned to ride a bicycle. Is this not inconsistent with Christian ideals?”

Below, a sampling of Tolstoy’s chores from his diaries of the period 1895 – 1899.

March 31 — I awoke at 6, and aroused everyone else, but, not rising, through indolence, went to sleep again till 9. Drank tea, and read for a while. Alexeyev called, and, until luncheon time, hindered me from working.  Yet he was so civil that I was afraid to offend him, by refraining from going to his place for luncheon. Before the  meal, roamed about a little. Am growing faint-hearted… must force myself to do bold things.

April 1st. — Again awoke after 7, but went to sleep, and  slept till 10. Read the Sovremennik. Every item in it is poor. How strange to think that bad books should demonstrate to me my faults better than good! Good  books cause me to lose hope. Wrote a chapter on prayer.  It progressed but indifferently. Vanyushka is a bad, lazy copyist. Nevertheless I have not lost all hope of accustoming him to it. Was foolish enough to go out to dinner,  which wearied me unbearably…

April 2nd. — Rose at 9, and both read and wrote. Only  B. disturbed me, and that not much. Went out to  luncheon. After luncheon, read; then set Vanyushka  to work, while promising him to settle his mother in Grummont. That much, at least, is his due. Went out shoot- ing, but saw nothing except a good-looking Cossack woman.  Had supper. After supper wrote until the present moment,  which is a quarter past one. The second day is very bad,  I must work at it again.

April 3rd. — Rose at 12, and had only just time to drink  some tea before I was summoned to luncheon. In the  absence of A. things are not at all dull. Also, to-day  I have been in good spirits. After luncheon Nikolinka  arrived, and I proposed to read to him the 6th chapter,  but he offended me with a cold response. Wrote a little…

April — Rose at 10, read till luncheon time, wrote a little, and went out shooting… Read; then went to supper. Alexeyev was so stupid that never again will I stir a foot to visit him. It is wearisome constantly to have to . Every item in it is poor. How strange to think that bad books should demonstrate to me my faults better than good! Good  books cause me to lose hope. Wrote a chapter on prayer.  It progressed but indifferently. Vanyushka is a bad, lazy copyist. Nevertheless I have not lost all hope of accustoming him to it. Was foolish enough to go out to dinner,  which wearied me unbearably…

April 2nd. — Rose at 9, and both read and wrote. Only  B. disturbed me, and that not much. Went out to  luncheon. After luncheon, read; then set Vanyushka  to work, while promising him to settle his mother in Grummont. That much, at least, is his due. Went out shoot- ing, but saw nothing except a good-looking Cossack woman.  Had supper. After supper wrote until the present moment,  which is a quarter past one. The second day is very bad,  I must work at it again.

April 3rd. — Rose at 12, and had only just time to drink  some tea before I was summoned to luncheon. In the  absence of A. things are not at all dull. Also, to-day  I have been in good spirits. After luncheon Nikolinka  arrived, and I proposed to read to him the 6th chapter,  but he offended me with a cold response. Wrote a little…

April — Rose at 10, read till luncheon time, wrote a little, and went out shooting… Read; then went to supper. Alexeyev was so stupid that never again will I stir a foot to visit him. It is wearisome constantly to have to remettre propecia him a sa place. One can do  nothing with such a fool. Better have no dealings with him save those of service.

April 6th. — Rose at 6, and am much pleased at the fact.  Wrote until luncheon time, then lunched at home, and  wrote again, though with little attention, owing to sleepiness. At 5 went for a ride to rouse myself, and returned  after 6, to finish writing out the first day — though without sufficient care. The style would appear good, and  the additions are not altogether bad. Yapishka is in the  room with me. Shall listen to him awhile, then have  supper, then go to bed. Am satisfied with the day. The hour is 10.55.

April 22nd, Port Shandrakovsky — Rose very early, and, though I caught nothing, enjoyed a splendid morning.  My dogs either run or they do not. Hence it is difficult  to come to a decision about them. At Bolshaya Oreshevka had a talk with a peasant of intelligence. Hereabouts the  peasantry are satisfied with their life conditions, but not  with the Armenian Government. Had dinner and a rest ; then went shooting, as well as meditated on slavery. At  my leisure I shall consider whether my thoughts on the  subject could fill a pamphlet. The moment that I arrived at Shandrakovo I went, though darkness had fallen, to  the seashore, where I mistook a swamp for the sea, and, with the help of my imagination, formed of the black swamp a most formidable and magnificent picture.

May 14th. — Rose early, and have been feeling well. The tarantas broke down at Mozdok, and again I lost my  temper. Went into the town, and gorged myself on  raisins (a stupid proceeding!). Had a fairly interesting  chat with B. One sensible thought occurred to me  and I have since forgotten it. Am retiring at 10.15.

May 26th, — Rose after 3, having awakened myself. Felt splendid. The same routine as usual. Wrote little, for the reason that I spent a long time in considering a mystical phrase of small significance which I wished to  render eloquently. Wasted the whole morning thus, and am displeased. Paid P. a visit. Why do not only  people whom I dislike and cannot respect, people of a different bent from my own, but also all people without exception, feel perceptibly embarrassed in my presence?  I must be a very difficult, unbearable person. Retiring to  bed at 11.30. To-morrow letters to Pelageya Ilyinishna  and Nikolenka.

May 28th. — Rose after 4, and pursued the usual routine. Could do nothing all day. Bulka (his hunting dog) has been nearly killed,  and the incident has so affected my nerves that I have  been bleeding from the nose, though otherwise I am well. Am sitting down to supper…