This is what I sent last week to Craig Jensen, who will bind Lac Des Pleurs, so that he could prepare an up-to-date dummy for CODEX. The entire text, with all but the last page of appendices has been set (I am out of sorts), and was proofed on the damped English handmade paper that the final book will be printed on. Three of the eight engravings have now been printed for the edition. The remaining five are represented in the dummy, either by proofs of the key blocks (those that have been cut) or drawings. The thirty-two Surber blocks (see March 19 entry) are also present, having been proofed on the English paper. On the right is the final design that Jemma Lewis came up with for the marbled cover papers (see October 17). On the left, at long last, is the finished, printed map.
The final press run for the map was printed from type. Here is the lock-up for the left-hand section. As you can see, the press bed was fully involved.River names had to be curved to follow their courses.
Robert Rulon-Miller urged me to make a border marking longitude and latitudinal lines. It was a happy coincidence that the 92nd longitude crosses the lake. By a stroke of luck I found 12 point degree and and minute symbols in a case of obscure sans serif type that was discovered in the type library dregs out in the garage. What’s more the weight of the symbols matched perfectly that of the Bembo figures.
Here is the finished map. The joining of the two sections was made with a butt joint at the suggestion of Timothy Barrett (see August 5), who also supplied the mending kozo paper that was used on either side of the map paper to secure the joint.
And a proof of the titling type (see October 17). I plan to re-cut the blue for the actual printing of the book, as I clearly see room for refinement, but for now, for the dummy, the water is fine!
I have been printing the map for seven weeks. It is being printed on two separate 18 x 24 inch pieces of paper that will later be joined together, so when a press run of 375 sheets in a color is finished, another 375 sheets remain to be printed with that color, from a different block, for the other half of the map. The printing of each stack of 375 sheets takes two days.
There is just enough room on the drying rack to accommodate 200 sheets. The first day’s printing is gathered off the rack on the morning of the second day to make room for the second half of the press run. So far three colors have been printed on each sheet: the blue of the water, and two colors of the land, plus two colors for the cartouche (see Aug. 5) on one of the sheets. That makes eight press runs printed, with likely six left to go.
I am currently mired in re-cutting the land blocks for a third and final color from them–the topographical layer. Having been mulled over for some time (see June 16), I have decided to go with contour lines rather than hanchuring . At this point the map feels like a marriage of cartography and printmaking, with the partners being more-or-less equal. While the contour lines do follow the lines of the land, some artistic license is taken, mostly because the wood-engraved integrity of the lines is essential, and over thirty years of practice informs it.
At the moment, the compass rose has grown into something unexpected. It began as a classic four-pointed directional cross, but with the moon at it’s core. Now the lines emitting from it seem to be inspired by the distorted rays sometimes seen when a lowering sun finds it’s way through distant clouds. I hope this somewhat surreal compass rose doesn’t distract from the neighboring cartouche. I also hope the contour lines will not distract from the printing that has been done thus far, as the map is looking pretty good. I am thinking of a light gray for the contour line/compass layer, and had hoped to do some proofing yesterday, as Jean Louise was here, but it likely won’t happen until next week. When the re-cutting of this block is complete, of course, another remains to be done for the other side of the map…
When Russell Maret visited this past summer, I expressed concern with my mixing typefaces in the river book (referred to here, from now on, as Lac des Pleurs): the text is set primarily in Bembo, but some is set in Poliphilus, partly because of limitations in my supply of Bembo, and partly because I felt like it. Russell pointed out that both Bembo and Poliphilus were based on the printing of Aldus Manutius, and it occurred to me that basing the title page titling on the original Aldine letter forms might be an interesting way to justify the mixing of the faces.
from Hypnerotomachia Poliphili
During my recent visit to New York, Jane Seigel, special collections librarian at Columbia, kindly arranged for Russell and I to view and photograph pages from Manutius’s seminal book Hypnerotomachia Poliphili printed in 1499. Later, we spent the better part of a day at Russell’s computer while, as faithfully as possible, he rendered the characters “LAC DES PLUERS” into vector drawings. Various problems emerged, mostly due to the poor printing of the original type, and it’s variable condition. Even if the type were virginal, and had been printed as crisply as possible, the problem of ink swell obscuring the edges of the metal type would remain: some speculation in the rendering of the characters is inevitable. It was fascinating to watch Russell, a master, at work.
Russell at work.Note the pixelated edges of the ink spread of the Aldine letter behind Russell’s pink tracing.
In a few weeks I will be giving a workshop at the Hamilton Wood Type Museum. My plan is to work on rendering the Aldine letter forms into wood type using the museum’s pantograph machine.
The title page spread with fold-out map as it now stands in the dummy of the book.
Regarding the map, 400 sheets of Thai mulberry paper were ordered, received, and returned. I decided to go for a more expensive hand-made kozo, which is now in hand, and hope to begin printing the maps later this week. While in New York, a visit to The Old Print Shop has opened an interesting array of possibilities for the map including latitudinal and longitudinal border markings, rhumb lines, and possibilities suggested by pocket maps and case maps. I will be running 300 sheets, with only 100 maps needed for the book proper, so I plan to issue the map in various forms beyond the book. The primary blocks for the map have long been cut, and it is time to get on with printing. These blocks are very large (around 18 x 24 inches), and are kept under weights to keep them as flat as possible when they go on the press. It will be a relief once they have fulfilled their purpose, and we can all finally relax.
A map block under weight.
I have been in touch with British marbler Jemma Lewis, who has agreed to custom marble sheets for the covers of the book. The design of these sheets will be based on her pattern #6, but using a color palate derived from this photograph of wet stones along the shore of the lake.
Wet Pepin stones and Jemma’s pattern #6.
Meanwhile, hand-setting the type and proofing the pages for the text of the book is done. Type for the appendices, an anticipated introduction from the book curator at the Minnesota Historical Society Patrick Coleman, and various other things remain, but the lion’s share of the typesetting is complete.
A spread of proofed text.
So much studio work, and the fact that the content for Lac des Pleurs now exists, means the boat has sadly been kept on it’s trailer. I will go out onto the lake one more time before putting it away for the winter. I plan to visit my favorite shore and look for jewels, but who knows what I might find…
Last week Anicka and I drove across the river to Red Wing and climbed Barn Bluff, the ancient lookout where Indian women and children would seek safety in times of trouble. Climbing up is a long hike along limestone faces, and at the top is an ecosystem of huge wasps that live in holes they’ve bored into the foot path, and prairie grasses and wild flowers, and rattlesnakes. It’s a place isolated from the human bustle below, and so keeps constant over the centuries. From there the Mississippi River valley expands eastward toward Lake Pepin, and the vista is breathtaking.
The view toward Lake Pepin.
Late in his life Thoreau came up the river: his health was failing and he needed fresh air. He climbed Barn Bluff, and though his notes are a bit dry (mostly botanical lists) there are little gems to be found: “I stopped to pluck a flower & smelled the spring fragrance stronger & nearer than ever.”
Another view from the bluff: an “ink color” reference for the map.
Meanwhile, the map continues to develop: the hydrological blocks are cut, the contour blocks made, and I hope to start printing soon. The nineteenth-century maps of Henry Yule Hind were the initial inspiration, and those maps, like most from that era, are falling apart. I hope to make this map more durable. Some problems can be eliminated with structural fixes. Binder Craig Jensen made two good suggestions: 1) fold the vertical folds first, and then the horizontal one, to avoid the meeting of folded hills and valleys mid-map, and 2) off-set the gutter edge of the map as far as I can to allow extra room at the gutter for the map’s edge.
The map thus far, proofed on Thai mulberry.
Another key factor involved in map durability is the paper it’s printed on. I tested a number of sheets and had settled on a bleached Thai mulberry. It occurs to me, though, that Western-style paper would be more appropriate, so I contacted paper-maker Timothy Barrett at the University of Iowa, whose extraordinary work (much of it related to historical aspects of paper) recently earned him a MacArthur Fellowship. I was delighted with his enthusiastic response to my inquiry, and look forward to proofing the map blocks on his paper. Dampening will likely be necessary, as Western-style hand-made paper’s surface is relatively rough. Adding moisture softens the paper fibers allowing for a better impression. This may prove problematic, as paper expands when dampened, and shrinks when it dries. I will be printing as many as 7 colors on the map, with reduction cuts necessitating at least two separate dampening of the paper. Registration would no doubt become an issue. The Thai mulberry is smooth enough to print without dampening. Using Western-style hand-made paper will be problematic, but if it works, the results could be spectacular.
The cartouche for Jonathan Carver’s map of 1763.
I have also been having some fun with the “cartouche”, a term I was introduced to by Patrick Coleman during a recent visit to the Minnesota Historical Society. It was Mr. Coleman who initially put me on the textual path for this book when he told me the Hennepin “Lake of Tears” story. I am happy to report that Pat has agreed to write an introduction for the book.
The map folded up, with a proof of the cartouche.
Wyatt Sandberg continues to come by for a day every week or so to set type, and I’ve begun spending some time setting, and distributing, as well. The type must first be distributed back into the case, having been initially cast for previous book projects. As I break down pages from Mayflies, and Sylvæ, the type echoes the texts of those books one last time–this reminds me of leaning over the dying embers of a camp fire–there is a melancholy warmth to it. I have come to appreciate the full circle of hand-set text. I don’t think there can be a more intimate approach.
Here in Stockholm Township industry is testing the social structure for cracks. We live in a place of transition, a rural economy drifting toward an urban one, a place becoming a land of milk and wine. So far the urban folk have carried the day, descending in large numbers on Stockholm Township board meetings: angry, informed, and ready to fight. Some township residents throw their hands in the air–they think that maybe a frac sand plant proposal, when one is put forth, should be at least considered–they are getting angry too, but have yet to find a voice. Meanwhile big energy probes the foundation walls, looking for the cracks that form in every wall.
I have been spending most of my time lately on the hydrology of Lake Pepin. The relative simplicity of earlier ideas for this map has faded into a maze of hundreds of little rivulets. I am beginning to recognize a character in the endings of my cut lines similar to the endings of certain black letter serifs. I am nearly a third of the way through cutting the blue blocks for the map (perhaps closing in on 100 hours), and I am just beginning to see what I’m doing. It took me 25 years to gain some understanding of this place where I live. There is much to be learned of both.
On the right the rivulets have been outlined with my trusty #5 spitsticker, and the larger spaces cleared with a mechanical router. On the left, the remaining wood has been cleared using first the #38 round scorper and finally the #42 square scorper. Of the dozens of engraving tools in my box, I use these three 99% of the time.
In early June I visited the lower part of the lake on a turtle expedition with book dealer Rob Rulon-Miller and wildlife biologist John Moriarty. June is the time of year that turtles lay eggs, and I hoped to find one doing so. As the Army Corps of Engineers dredges the channel of the river, large islands of sand are formed. These islands are thoughtfully sculpted, generally with a small, land-locked pond at one end, and an overflow drain pipe to the river.
In the ponds ecosystems form that are ideal for the observation of creatures like water snakes, frogs, dragon flies, and turtles.
A female False Map Turtle ((Graptemys pseudogeographica). “The basking turtles extend their legs to maximaize the surface area for the sun to wam up.” –Moriarty
John captured two little turtles from last year’s hatch that I took home for observation:
Meanwhile, I’m nearly ready to begin engraving a large foldout map of Lake Pepin. The map will be printed from end grain maple blocks and metal type. Two sections of the map, each the maximum size that my press can print, will be joined, and eventually folded into the book. I’m working from downloaded PDF’s of the latest generation of USGS survey maps. These maps exist in many layers, which can be made visible, or not: I am using only two: hydrology and contours. Overall, my map employs 25 of the USGS maps. They have been scaled to size, printed out, and taped together.
Making the drawing on tracing vellum to transfer the map image to the block.
Joining pieces of end grain maple rounds.
A glued-up block before sanding.
The blackened surface of a finished block with graphite lines transferred from the tracing vellum.
As the text of this volume is historically based (see post of March 19 A Winter That Wasn’t), I have been looking at old maps. To use as a model, I’ve settled on the maps engraved by Edward Weller for Henry Youle Hind’s Narrative of the Canadian Red River… published in 1860, and in particular this little map of “The Fishing Lakes”. I like the typography, the use of color, and the method of showing contour.
I cut a small test block attempting two possible directions I might go in defining contour: modern contour lines, and a stab at hachuring. While using the modern contour lines model would be much easier (and given the massive scale of this map, much less arduous), I’m inclined to go with hachure lines. I obviously have a way to go in developing a satisfactory hachuring technique (engraving in end grain maple offers less precision than engraving in the copper or steel of 19th century map engravers like Weller), but I’m determined to try.
Contour lines on the left, hachuring on the right.
I have a theory that while out on the lake today, if one squints, what one sees isn’t much different from what Hennepin would have seen in 1680. Here is a plan for a French fort on Lake Pepin that was drawn in 1727.
I was thrilled to spot the exact location of the fort by looking at this contemporary USGS photograph.
Though some change has obviously occurred with the shifting of sediment over the years, I think that the basic geography hasn’t.
Rulon-Miller and Moriarty navigate Lake Pepin backwaters.
President Maret and the First Lady spent an afternoon with me on Lake Pepin during their recent tour of the midwest. Mr Maret caught the only fish of the day, a 15-inch White Bass (Morone chrysops). A couple of days later, I returned to the same spot and found a mother load of morel mushrooms.
Meanwhile, reductions of both the key block and the water block of the Redhorse have been cut. I decided to print the reduced key block first, before the reduced water block, because I felt I could capture detail better on top of one layer of ink, rather than two.
Detail of the reduced key block.
I had already mixed the second water color, and had added opaque white in order to obscure a little problem I had while laying down the first water color. So, the reduction cut of the key block was printed in black. It went well, but when I tried printing the reduced water block over it, the opaque white tended to obscure the very detail I had hoped hoped to feature in the key block. I decided to cut away more of the second water block in order to show more of the detail of the fish. I started by cutting out the iris of the eye, as it is the primary focus of the image, and needs to be deep, like a well. Having cut the iris, it’s darkness seemed too isolated.
Detail of the reduced water block.
I thought about filling it back in with epoxy, and remixing the ink without any opaque white, but it then occurred to me that the opacity might mimic the milky reflection of light off the top of the fish, something I had been aware of, but hadn’t thought to attempt: my problem had become an unexpected opportunity. I began cutting away more and more of the second water block where it overprinted the fish. This was very difficult to do for two reasons: first, I had already cut each individual scale four times, and I was tired of it; second, when I proofed the key fish image onto the water block for reference, it was black on black, and I could only make out the detail by turning the block at an angle to the light. It’s a big block, and this was awkward: even when the angle of light was just right, the detail was extremely difficult to see. To make matters worse, what was being cut away from the block appears light, but in fact becomes dark on the printed image, as the obscuring opaque white is not present.
Detail of the image with both reduction cuts printed.
The fine black lines on the eyeball were actually cut as white lines in the reduced water block.
Most years maple sap season is in full swing about now. After a week of record high temperatures, it is time to pull the taps from the trees. This photograph was taken a month ago. The river never did completely freeze over: that dark-colored ribbon off the nose of Point-No-Point is open water. The little black specs next to it are fish houses. It is remarkable that no one went through the ice.
A good deal of progress was made on the text of The River. Using a diverse array of resources, from Google Books to The Minnesota Historical Society Library, I was able to string together a series of excerpts beginning with Hennepin’s account of entering Lake Pepin in 1680, and ending with Twain’s sobering account of the river loosing all “romance and beauty” once he’d come to know it from the point of view of a steam boat captain. My investigation took me through early Fish and Game Department documentation about the fish and mussel populations in the lake, and also lead to the solution of an interesting taxonomic puzzle regarding the Shorthead Redhorse (Moxostoma macrolepidotum, aka Moxostoma aureolum). The above spread is from a computer-generated dummy of The River. The image you see, of the Redhorse, is from Thaddeus Surber’s catalog of Minnesota fishes in 1920.
From Surber's "A Preliminary Catalogue of the Fishes and Fish-Like Vertebrates of Minnesota".
The image looked familiar to me, and it turns out that, while living in a warehouse in Saint Paul Minnesota back in the late 1970’s, I had proofed the block actually used in the printing of Surber’s catalog. It was kept, along with over 30 others, in an old metal tackle box, now in my possession. I plan to print them all, as one of a number of “appendices”, in the back of the book.
The Tackle Box
I am currently in the middle of printing the Redhorse image. Two colors have been printed, and I’m re-cutting the blocks for the next two colors. Here I am drawing on the two colors already printed to see how I might approach re-cutting the key block. To see a detailed description of the “reduction cutting” process, click.
With The Bicycle Diaries in the hands of the binder, I was able, at last, to get back on the river, setting out early in the morning of August 17. Attempts at catching fish were futile, but while working my way up the river I began to notice large fish floating down the river. I discovered that six of them were paddlefish: each about three feet long. I had seen one before, alive, but only briefly as it leaped from the water next to my boat. In an attempt to take full advantage of this opportunity to examine a paddlefish more closely, I tried to lift the tail of one, but when I lifted I could hear the gurgling of air bubbles moving through the tail toward it’s bloated belly–not a pleasant sound. I left the fish in the water.
The paddlefish gill is covered by a long, thin, pointed flap that is peppered with a pattern of black spots that continue across the snout of the fish’s paddle. The skin appears scaleless, and leathery.
Back in the studio, besides dealing with an array of last minute binding decisions, and attending to various other Bicycle Diaries production details, I’ve been preparing the color blocks for the river image Moxostoma macrolepidotum, the shorthead redhorse.
Below the Wabasha Bridge a rock-lined narrows joins the main channel of the river with her backwater. The river is still high, and as water rushes through the passage it boils and swirls into whirlpools while it drops toward the green-choked backwater maze. Floating through the narrows I remember the threat of drowning the little Tongue River of North Dakota: “The current could take you down for good” they said.
Butch Thompson kindly contributed the score: a segment of the Bessie Smith tune Backwater Blues from his 1993 CD Lincoln Avenue Blues.
The river remains high, but it’s not the reason I have only been out on it twice this year. I’m nearly finished printing the engravings for The Bicycle Diaries, but I have 148 pages of text yet to print by summer’s end. Printing a book is not unlike being pulled in by the current: it’s sink or swim.
