Category Archives: Art

Tools I Can’t Live Without: Teflon Bone Folder

[Glazing left by a regular bone folder on Dover book cloth. To the left of the shiny mark I used a Teflon folder = no mark.]

If you’ve made a handmade book, you’ve almost certainly used a bone folder. These handy tools transform a “nice” fold into a crisp-and-clean fold worthy of a military crease.

But have you used a Teflon bone folder? And why would you want to? I’ve got one in my studio and, honestly, I don’t use it every day. My handy-dandy plain vanilla bone folder is my favorite choice in most situations. In fact, I was thinking today I should just carry one in my pocket every day, the way I do my inhaler (I’m asthmatic) or my keys.

So why is it a tool I can’t live without? When I’m working with bookcloth, it’s invaluable. Many bookcloths will get a shiny or glazed look if you rub them with a regular bone folder. Imagine for a moment making a book cover and rubbing the bookcloth down to make sure it gets a good bond with the glue and the Davey board. Now look closely, in many cases, you’ll see that you’ve now got a shiny spot or line where you were rubbing. I like to see evidence of my hand in my art making – after all , it is handmade – but I don’t want a beautiful silk book cover marred by marks I’ve inadvertently made in the process. Enter the Teflon bone folder.

[Image from Talas.com]

There are some drawbacks, Teflon bone folders typically have thicker edges and corners so you can’t necessarily get into the same tight spaces as you would with a regular bone folder and I don’t think they are very useful for scoring paper before a fold. They’re also expensive: compare a regular bone folder at $4-$7 to the $19.50-$21.50 you’ll pay for a Teflon folder at Talas. Lastly, I wouldn’t alter them. A regular bone folder can be sanded into a particular shape if you use a respirator and wet-sand it. Teflon is highly toxic when inhaled and I would never consider sanding it to shape it – not even with a respirator.

There are more positives, too. In case the “doesn’t burnish your book cloth” isn’t enough for you… nothing sticks to them. They are after all, Teflon. And, if you really want a Teflon folder in other shapes and sizes, they are available. At bonefolder.com  you can get 8 different shapes of Teflon folders and even Teflon coated tweezers. In fact, as I wandered around that website I found a few Teflon tools that I may have to put on my Christmas list. Squirrel?

Have you used a Teflon bone folder? What do you think?

~Ginger

www.gingerburrell.com

Out of Stress: Art

I am in a white house, I mean completely white. White rooms lead to white hallways which lead to more white rooms. White at every turn and no way to exit.

No, not an existentialist play, one of the many dreams that I’ve been having nightly since we started thinking about moving.

In one dream I am hand-laying the tile in our new house and it takes me one day to lay each tile.

In another dream I am making homemade tortillas (really my husband’s dream!) and I have trays of masa balls that I have to carry from one end of the house to another. And the house is big and it takes me hours to carry one tray. And when I ask my husband to help carry these trays he says, “no.”

So I started writing them down, these dreams that are capturing my every neurosis about moving — and I realized, I’ve got an artists’ book in the making. I figure I won’t be able to actually make the book until the dreams stop. The working title? The American Dream.

Have your dreams ever suggested the content for an artists’ book? What was it about? Was it a generalized dream book? A specific set of dreams or nightmares?

Feel free to post links to photos of your book in the comments.

~Ginger

www.gingerburrell.com

Falling Down the Rabbit Hole: Or how does one make art and keep up with real life?

It started with a discussion around the campfire in July. My husband, Greg, said, “I’m thinking of moving.” “Really?” I thought. Just when was he going to mention this to me?!

Many discussions later we agreed that this is a good time for us to buy a new house. We love our current house but our yard is small, my studio is small, and we have no downstairs bedrooms to offer our parents if they need it. And so we fell, or jumped, down the rabbit hole.

For two months we spent every weekend looking at houses. New houses, old houses, oh-my-gosh we’d have to tear out everything houses. Our criteria – studio space, a yard with some distance from our neighbors (who are very nice people, but when you can reach out and touch them…), and enough downstairs bedrooms to accommodate both sets of our parents if we ever needed to.

In between talking to realtors, pouring over online listings and wandering through more houses than I can count, I managed to continue to make art. I worked on my quilt book, I worked on editions of books, I found time to think about new art. And then we bought a house.

Our discussions transitioned from how many bedrooms to what kind of cabinets, from how much square footage to whether or not we wanted a glaze on those cabinets, and from what size yard to where I wanted the studio in the yard…

Yup! A studio. A lovely, separate, four-times-as-big as my current bedroom/studio, space to make art. The only problem… no time to make art. No time to think about art and a dozen blog posts in my head that never made it through the keyboard and into the web. For the past month I’ve spent every spare moment planning the new house, planning how to sell our current house, and almost no moments in the studio. (Thankfully I was teaching a class and enjoying the art made by some very creative students!)

So, first, an apology. I ask you to read my blog and then I flake on you. I am deeply sorry. I missed writing and I missed hearing from you.

And a deep sigh of relief. Today I have five minutes to hold still, to think about art and to write to you. Today I am going back to a book arts group that patiently endured my excuses and we’re going to look at artists’ books and talk about art and I’m going to ask for some of their ideas for how to turn a single book that doesn’t quite work, in to an edition that shines.

The challenge for the next three months will be to pack, get our current house ready to sell, and make time for art. I look at my studio and think about packing it up and then close the door. How do I pack up a studio without spending the next day unpacking a box because I put the exact material I needed in said box?

Have you moved your studio? What was your strategy? What worked and what didn’t? What would you do differently if you had to do it again?

~Ginger

www.gingerburrell.com