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Intermission

"Local Conditions" artist book pieces illustrated, letterpress printed and hand-cut by Chandler O'Leary

Now that I’m back in town, I’ve got deadlines. Lots of them.

Like, hundreds and hundreds. Each one shaped like a little P-I Globe, a little Space Needle, or any number of things.

You get the idea.

"Local Conditions" artist book pieces illustrated, letterpress printed and hand-cut by Chandler O'Leary

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Apocalypse now!

Detail of the "Apocalypse Calendar" website. Designed by Thomas J. Quinn.

To hear the ancient Mayans tell it, I’d best hurry up with my unfinished projects—because time is running out.

Putting the veracity of such tales aside, this prophecy stuff sounds like a fun illustration topic. So my good friend and old-tyme RISD buddy Thomas Quinn had the ingenious idea to count down our remaining days in style by designing and curating a 2012 Apocalypse Calendar, featuring a different artist for each month. The result of all his hard work (read: herding cats) is a fabulous collection of artwork, a beautifully designed finished product (great job, T.Q.!)—and possibly a niggling sense of dread as the days count down.

Detail of the "Apocalypse Calendar" December page. Designed by Thomas J. Quinn.

Oh, and here’s a sneak peek of the December page in the calendar—look closely and you’ll see the End Times already conveniently marked for you. Thanks for the heads-up, Mayans!

Besides the added bonus of working alongside both old friends and rock-star artists I’ve admired for years, I loved the fact that Tommy let me interpret the theme however I pleased. Rather than going down the illustrated path of mass carnage or Biblical archetypes (I figured those topics would be well covered by the other folks), I decided to time-travel back to my favorite mass-hysterical era, the 1950s.

Vintage magazines with articles about fallout shelters

I did a little research, and dug up a whole bunch of vintage advice on how to survive the end of the world—including a handbook on how to build a fallout shelter, and how to keep yourself amused once you’re in there.

Vintage fallout shelter handbook

This thing just cracked me up. It has all kinds of “expert” wisdom (like how to fend off the roving bands of contaminated neighbors who will inevitably stop by to borrow a cup of sugar) and cheery photos of housewives preparing dinner with a can opener while dear ol’ Dad bonds with the kids.

Vintage cookbook illustrations

Which, of course, reminded me of my other favorite relic from the 50s: illustrated cookbooks. Talk about a goldmine! Everybody from uncredited production interns to the late, great Charley Harper did a cookbook back in the day. The fact that these illustrators were often limited to cheap, two-color printing actually made for surprisingly innovative and beautiful results.

And of course, as you already know, I am completely fascinated by the sheer number of terrifying Jell-o recipes and ill-advised casseroles that crop up in old cookbooks. And since that got me thinking all sorts of wonderfully twisted things about housewives at the End Times, and how Jell-o can probably survive a nuclear holocaust, I decided to combine the two.

"Apocalypse Calendar" October illustration by Chandler O'Leary

So here’s my contribution to the calendar: how to bury your head in the sand, in style. I asked Tommy for October, since it’s my birthday month, and he was kind enough to oblige. So I went nuts with the pumpkin orange and threw a Halloween party.

Detail of "Apocalypse Calendar" October illustration by Chandler O'Leary

Complete with absurd salad recipe (that you could actually make, but I wouldn’t advise it), shelter decorating hints—

Detail of "Apocalypse Calendar" October illustration by Chandler O'Leary

—and just a little untold destruction, for garnish.

"Apocalypse Calendar" Kickstarter campaign. Illustration by Jay Ryan.

Illustration by Jay Ryan

We decided that spiffy, large-format, high-quality offset printing is the best way to show off the artwork, so we’ve set up a Kickstarter project to fund the thing. (We even put together a nifty and hilarious video!) Kickstarter is a fairly new phenomenon, and it’s proven to be a wonderful resource for artists, especially—and since the Kickstarter logo uses the same font as the Dunkin Donuts logo, it makes my designer’s lizard brain happy.

Kickstarter works the way an NPR pledge drive does—you get various gifts in return for your support amount. Twenty bucks will buy you a calendar, and there are a bunch of goodies available at other pledge levels, like signed calendars, original art, and even the ability to make the artist of your choice do your bidding and draw your apocalyptic portrait. (Yes, you read that right.) If we meet our goal, we’ll be shipping calendars in December.

Now, the tricky thing about Kickstarter is that it’s an all-or-nothing kind of thing. If we don’t make our set funding goal by the time the clock runs out, the apocalypse will come early we don’t get any of the moolah pledged so far. So pretty please, do us a huge favor by doing your annual calendar shopping a wee bit early—you can make your pledge here.

After all, if the Mayans have their facts straight, this is the last calendar you’ll ever need to buy, right?

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Remnants

Process photo of "Local Conditions" artist book by Chandler O'Leary

Just wanted to give you a peek at what the studio looks like these days. I try not to think about it too hard, because I officially unveiled the thing almost a year ago, but I’m still working on my book.

Process photo of "Local Conditions" artist book by Chandler O'Leary

Big dang pile of box parts; coffee cup for scale.

You see, it’s one thing to get the prototype done for the exhibition, but when you’re making an edition of books, that means you have to finish all the rest of the copies, too.

Process photo of "Local Conditions" artist book by Chandler O'Leary

Obviously, I have my work cut out for me.

Process photo of "Local Conditions" artist book by Chandler O'Leary

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Trimmed and burning

Pt. Wilson illustration by Chandler O'Leary

As you may have already noticed, I kind of have a thing for lighthouses.

Pt. Wilson Light sketch by Chandler O'Leary

It’s probably no surprise they’ve cropped up in my work lately, since my corner of the world is fair teeming with them.

Laysan albatross illustration by Chandler O'Leary

But I even find myself sneaking them into other projects, even when it’s not strictly necessary.

Nubble Light sketch by Chandler O'Leary

So you can imagine my excitement on my trip back East,

Nubble Light sketch by Chandler O'Leary

when there seemed to be a beacon

Ludington, MI lighthouse sketch by Chandler O'Leary

around every corner.

Best keep a sharp eye out—

Pt. Robinson illustration by Chandler O'Leary

I have a feeling there’ll be more lighthouses popping up here in future.

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Horton hears a universe

Codex Book Fair 2011 photo by Chandler O'Leary

You know, I spent the whole time I was at Codex just trying to process everything around me. I thought the few weeks since that I’ve been telling stories and rehashing memories would make it easier to sort it out in my mind, but I still just can’t seem to articulate the impressions bouncing around the inside of my skull.

It was just too big … too rich … too much.

Which probably explains why I never managed to get any decent photos. I was too busy standing there goggling at the enormity of it all to document the experience properly. It was all I could do just to man my own table and keep track of all the folks who stopped by to talk to me.

Artwork by Chandler O'Leary at Codex Book Fair 2011

Let me backtrack a bit, and explain what all of this was about. For every discipline, subculture or interest group out there, there’s some sort of club, or society, or conference, or symposium, or bee, or knitting night, or comicon, or hot-dog-eating contest, or what-have-you—some organized gathering for like-minded people to get together and share what they do. If you can think of it, there’s probably a group of people meeting about it somewhere.

The trouble with the book arts is that our world is small and spread out. There aren’t too many of us who do this sort of thing in the first place, at least when compared to photographers, or children’s book writers, or web developers. And then within our little group, everybody follows such a different path that getting us together is like herding cats. We’re hard to pin down because there’s a whole universe in our little speck of dust. Printing, bookbinding, papermaking and typesetting are just the tip of the iceberg. Within each of those disciplines is an incredibly broad spectrum of different and often contradictory artists and art forms. And yet each of those fits comfortably, easily, infinitely under the same, paradoxically small umbrella of the book arts. (Now you know why I’m not great at elevator speeches.) If you tried to graph it out, you’d end up with either the world’s best or worst Venn Diagram—I can’t decide.

So because we run such a crazy gamut, we can’t be shoehorned in neatly with some other event, even though the “average” book artist can and probably does moonlight quite easily as a dozen other things. There’s no “book arts corner” at SXSW, or BlogHer, or the Venice Biennale. Exhibitions and summits dedicated entirely to the book arts are few and far between—large international events are rare, indeed. So for our lot, Codex is a big deal.

This year there were over 140 exhibitors at the book fair, representing artists in every conceivable discipline and style, and every corner of the globe. The exhibitors hailed from 20 states and over a dozen countries outside the U.S., including Russia, Germany, France, Israel, Colombia, Japan, Mexico and Canada.

And it isn’t just for artists: students, educators, private collectors, librarians, museum curators, conservators and archivists, hobbyists, publishers, supply vendors, gallery reps and dealers, bookstore owners, clubs and organizations, and every stripe of enthusiast were in attendance.

Codex Book Fair 2011. Photo by Codex Foundation.

Photo courtesy of the Codex Foundation.

So yeah. Codex is huge.

It was both intimidating and inspiring. I was immediately and constantly confronted with my own insignificance (I kept imagining that at any moment, some cartoon alarm would go off—woop! woop! woop!—alerting everyone to the fact that I didn’t belong there)—yet at the same time, everyone I met was warm and welcoming.

Codex Book Fair 2011 photo by Chandler O'Leary

I had the chance to catch up with old friends, meet many of my long-admired art-heroes, and be introduced to a whole host of new faces.

But most of all, Codex was completely, utterly overwhelming. I had my brain cranked up into overdrive for four solid days. After meeting literally hundreds of people, answering thousands of questions, asking another thousand myself, handling many dozens of handmade books and artworks, absorbing new information and taking copious notes, and just being exposed to the ultimate sensory overload of it all—well, by the end, I was a deer in the headlights.

And I feel like I barely scratched the surface of what was there. Imagine that you’re visiting the Louvre, or the Smithsonian, or some other enormous museum. Only instead of picking and choosing which galleries and pieces to see, and making your way through room by room, you discover that every painting, every sculpture, every piece of art in the whole place is crammed into one huge hall—each with the artist who made it standing to the side, waiting to meet you and hear what you think. I’d go mad—I think I did go mad!

Everything I saw was phenomenal—it was hard not to just stand there, slack-jawed, struck dumb by the realization that there I was, in close proximity to some of the best work being done by anyone, anywhere.

Codex Book Fair 2011 photo by Chandler O'Leary

I could go on and on. And I’m sure there were a thousand other great things I never had a chance to see, because I also had a table to man. Jessica and I made the trip together (that’s her showing one of her books), and as we had adjacent tables—

Artwork by Chandler O'Leary and Jessica Spring at Codex Book Fair 2011

—we met in the middle with our Dead Feminists stuff between us.

Jessica’s done Codex once before, so she was prepared for the overwhelming onslaught of people. She suggested that we put together a letterpress-printed take-away catalog of our work so that after the fair, when everyone was just as dazed as I was, they’d have something to remember us by. (And that ended up being a great idea, and a big hit—we had tons of follow-up messages afterward, and we didn’t see anything like the catalog at the book fair.)

2011 Artwork Catalog by Chandler O'Leary and Jessica Spring

Since we collaborate on so many things, we decided to combine our efforts into one joint catalog—with a twist.

2011 Artwork Catalog by Chandler O'Leary and Jessica Spring

We figured we had an opportunity to clear up a little of the confusion over who does what around here, so we had fun playing with the design possibilities. Jessica came up with a flip-flop format, and I designed two covers that would come together at the spine to form a single image if laid flat.

2011 Artwork Catalog by Chandler O'Leary and Jessica Spring

Held one way, you’d read her half of the catalog; flip it over and read from the back, and it becomes my half. We converged in the middle with a Dead Feminist “centerfold” (ha!).

Artwork by Chandler O'Leary at Codex Book Fair 2011

For my part, the most gratifying part of Codex was watching a steady crowd playing with Local Conditions. The response people had to the book was both intensely gratifying and humbling—and it was wonderful to see that students, fellow artists, dealers, curators, professors and collectors were equally excited about it. But my favorite bit was being a bystander to all the different scenes people designed with the image flats.

Artwork by Chandler O'Leary at Codex Book Fair 2011

The cow completely stole the show there. It was hilarious to see how many times it turned up in a scene, either a fitting addition I hadn’t thought of—or as an absurdly out-of-place monster.

(Best of all was the cow that stood on the airplane wing and pretended to be a gremlin.)

Detail of "Local Conditions" artist book by Chandler O'Leary

It’s hard to remember that we were in a city as fabulous as Berkeley—the folks at Codex had created a complete world just in that one room. (Though we did get out enough to discover that when the overstimulation had us in a daze, a hot-cookie ice cream sandwich down the street was just the ticket. Thank you, Berkeley!) The next fair is two years away, but I came home with what seemed like a decade’s worth of inspiration. And I find I’m already looking forward to Codex 2013—sensory overload and all.

Bring it on. I’ll be there.

Berkeley, CA photo by Chandler O'Leary

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M.I.A.

Berkeley, CA photo by Chandler O'Leary

Going A.W.O.L. from the studio can be a very good thing—especially when this is the destination.

Codex Book Fair 2011 photo by Chandler O'Leary

I’m here to spend some time with these folks,

Artwork by Chandler O'Leary at Codex Book Fair 2011

for the sake of this.

San Francisco photo by Chandler O'Leary

But the “work” part of my trip is done now, so I spent today up here.

Half Moon Bay photo by Chandler O'Leary

And tomorrow I’m leaving for home, but I’ll be taking the long road, by way of this.

Tide pool photo by Chandler O'Leary

The goal is to take as much time as possible for things like these,

Half Moon Bay photo by Chandler O'Leary

and for moments like this.

I promise to share when I get home and have access to a computer again. See you on the other end of the trail.

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Living history

Composite scene from the "Local Conditions" artist book by Chandler O'Leary

A composite of two image flats from the book.

Anyway, after a good, long run, my Local Conditions exhibit is closing tomorrow afternoon, and this week I’ve been revisiting some of my favorite images from the book. This one always gets me thinking about how much a city can change over the course of a century, and how for a newcomer like me, that change isn’t always apparent. There aren’t always little plaques or signposts to tell you what used to exist where you’re standing now—or even any evidence at all of how things used to be.

This scene depicts the Drumheller Fountain (also known as Frosh Pond), located on the University of Washington campus in Seattle. Incidentally, on my first trip to the Northwest almost exactly four years ago, I was standing on this very spot when I saw Mt. Rainier for the first time. This is where the idea for the book first struck me—although at the time it was a very different, and much simpler concept. And at that moment, I had no idea that the view itself had a history all its own.

Arctic Circle at the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition. Image courtesy of University of Washington.

AYP and Camp Harmony images courtesy of the University of Washington Library

This is Frosh Pond in 1909, when it was called Geyser Basin (part of the so-called “Arctic Circle”), and when it was not a part of campus, but the centerpiece of the University’s predecessor, the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition.

An event similar to a World’s Fair, the A-Y-P showcased the natural and economic resources of the Pacific Northwest with pomp and splendor. To mirror the purpose of the exposition, the fairgrounds (designed by the famous Olmsted Brothers) brought the region’s greatest symbol into stunning focus. This so-called “Rainier Vista,” culminating in the Arctic Circle, helped draw in 3.7 million visitors over the fair’s four-month duration.

Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition. Image courtesy of University of Washington.

Very little evidence remains of the A-Y-P fairgrounds today (much to my chagrin); the vast majority of the fair’s buildings were temporary, and even the landscape design of the modern University has all but obscured the original layout of the A-Y-P grounds. But the Arctic Circle is still there, and when you step out from behind a row of blooming cherry trees in the spring, the Rainier Vista still hits you with full force.

Speaking of fairgrounds, closer to T-Town is another historical remnant—this time, however, instead of a long-past event with only a marker left behind to hint at what was, these fairgrounds still hold to their original purpose today.

Camp Harmony internment camp. Image courtesy of University of Washington.

Illustration by Eddie Sato, Camp Harmony inmate and “staff” artist.

I’m talking about the Western Washington Fairgrounds in Puyallup, which are still in operation (though the event is now called the Puyallup Fair—that’s pronounced “Pew-AL-up”). In 1942, the U.S. government evicted, rounded up and imprisoned over 100,000 Japanese Americans living on the West Coast; the internment began with the forced migration of families living on Bainbridge Island, across the Sound from Seattle.

Camp Harmony internment camp. Images courtesy of University of Washington.

While they awaited the construction of permanent internment camps further inland, many Japanese Americans were sent to temporary “assembly centers” to coexist in cramped barracks with other families, often in substandard living conditions. Thousands of Washington’s interred residents were sent to the assembly center nicknamed “Camp Harmony,” hastily constructed on the fairgrounds in Puyallup, right alongside the fair’s permanent buildings and rides.

Composite scene from the "Local Conditions" artist book by Chandler O'Leary

Three image flats; the mountain is almost completely hidden here.

Camp Harmony was torn down after just seven months, but the Fair continues to this day. (To my everlasting horror, the Fair’s website mentions Camp Harmony only obliquely on its “History” page—it states only that “the fairgrounds were used as a temporary shelter“—emphasis mine—during World War II. Right. A shelter where the “refugees” were imprisoned under armed guard.) And the wooden roller coaster that overshadowed Eddie Sato’s scene of the camp still stands. Now that I’ve learned the history of the place, I’ve lost my appetite for rollercoasters, funnel cakes and blue-ribbon vegetables. But the fairgrounds made for an image that dovetails eerily well with the homage to Japanese art upon which Local Conditions is founded.

1890s photo of the Luzon Building, Tacoma, WA. Image courtesy of Jessica Spring.

Photo courtesy of Jessica Spring

And then there’s the kind of history that unfolds right before your very eyes. Remember the Luzon building?

Composite scene from the "Local Conditions" artist book by Chandler O'Leary

Two image flats; recognize the sky in the background?

Well, it was slated to be a part of the book from the very beginning—just by virtue of being a structure that caught my eye and that came with a good view of the mountain.

Luzon Building demolition photo by Chandler O'Leary

But then they knocked it down in September 2009, and suddenly I became an eye-witness, with an opportunity to document history as it happened.

Composite scene from the "Local Conditions" artist book by Chandler O'Leary

Three image flats; same mountain, drastically different view.

I wish this were an imaginary scene, but it’s moments like this that the book is all about. Now you see it, now you don’t.

Vintage Tacoma postcards. Images courtesy of the Tacoma Public Library.

Postcards circa 1910. Courtesy of the Tacoma Public Library

And to top it all off, it’s looking like Tacoma’s history is in danger of repeating itself. This is a postcard dated 1905, depicting what was an iconic view even then—the “Gateway to the City of Destiny.” The building on the left is the former Northern Pacific Railroad Office; on the right is Old City Hall.

Tacoma built a new city hall a few blocks away in the 1930s, but both the Northern Pacific building and Old City Hall still stand—the addition of a freeway the only major change to the site pictured. But on November 24, 2010, after an unusual cold snap, a pipe burst in Old City Hall—soaking the walls, ceilings and floors with 30,000 gallons of water. With extensive flood damage and the building owner entering foreclosure, the building faces an uncertain future. I only hope it doesn’t go the way of the Luzon.

Composite scene from the "Local Conditions" artist book by Chandler O'Leary

Three image flats; there’s an individual print version in the shop.

When I started this project, I had no idea of what I was getting into. I knew that I would stumble upon some pretty fascinating history, but I never would have guessed that a fountain, some fairgrounds and a pile of bricks would draw me in so completely. But now I’m hooked—and the best part is that after all this work, I no longer feel like an outsider looking in.

This is my history now, too. For better or worse, I want to see how it all plays out.

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Stalling a wee bit

Knitting photo by Chandler O'Leary

You know what? It’s pretty dark here in the winter.

No, I mean really dark. Not just a sunrise-at-eight-pitch-black-by-five dark, but a kind of silver pall that sets up a permanent residence, even at midday, and makes you forget about the sun. It’s absolutely beautiful when you’re taking a walk in the fog, or curling up with your trusty Rosie mug and a hank of yarn. Not so great when you really need a lot of natural light, though—like, say, for shooting photographs…

Process photo of "Local Conditions" artist book by Chandler O'Leary

…or mixing paint to fill in a huge stack of glorified coloring book pages.

So between the short daylight hours and a desperate need to reserve a little personal time, work on the book has slowed from a breakneck pace to a stately, clip-clopping trot. I still have so much to show you—so much to explain—but my head needs to catch up with my hands first (or is it the other way around?). I’m going, then, to break it up into a series of posts, and take a little extra time to gather my thoughts before I start. I don’t mean to string you along; because the process required working with a kind of tunnel vision for so long, I’m only just now seeing the “finished” product myself. So thanks for your patience—and for being interested enough to stick with me.

Thank you also for the huge outpouring of support you’ve shown since I posted this thing a couple of weeks ago. The comments, links, blog features, Tweets, emails, and amazing reviews are just overwhelming. I simply can’t find the words, except—thank you.

Mt. Rainier and Seattle Post-Intelligencer Globe letterpress illustration by Chandler O'Leary

Part of what’s taking me so long is that at the same time, I’m working on a small series (like a baker’s dozen or so) of individual prints of images from the book (exhibit A above). There’s not a whole heap of rhyme or reason as to which illustrations I’ve chosen, except that these are some of my favorites. I’ll be posting them in the shop (believe me, they’ll be a lot more affordable than the book) as I finish them.

In the meantime, it’s time to light a few more lights, and keep the dark at bay so I can see what I’m doing.

Candles photo by Chandler O'Leary

Which reminds me—Happy Hanukkah!

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Local Conditions

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

I’ve been hemming and hawing about how best to share this thing with you. Even with Sarah’s excellent photography, it’s just a lot more difficult to explain how it works when I can’t hold the book out into space and demonstrate in real time. It’s a problem with every artist book out there—an interactive sculpture, complete with moving parts, that also happens to tell a story is just dern hard to document.

So for now, I’m going to go through the mechanics of the thing, step by step, and go into the whys and wherefores in other posts. And for those of you who might not be familiar with the term artist book, you’re going to find out really quickly that this isn’t your basic hardcover book. The definition of “artist book” is way too broad to go into within this post (click the above link to go to what I wrote on my F.A.Q. about it), but I’m hoping that by the time you get to the bottom of this post, you’ll have an idea of just how broad the term can be—and what crazy things can happily fall into the category.

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

Okay, let’s start with the box. When it’s all closed up, Local Conditions is almost a cube (a 10-inch cube that’s heavy enough to be hiding a sack or two of flour inside). On the topmost face of the box is the frontispiece, containing the title and a topographic map illustration of the summit of Mt. Rainier.

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

The north, south, east and west sides of the box are faced with illustrations of the corresponding faces of Rainier, each depicting the mountain at sunset.

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

(That’s the eastern face on the left, and the north face beside it.)

Now, those two little bone clasps hold the thing together, and when you flick them out of their loops,

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

the book opens up, revealing a chest of drawers. Keep pulling on the flap you just raised,

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

and you’ll find that you can take the whole outer wrapper off and read the colophon (see below) printed on the inside.

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

The other panels on the wrapper include detailed instructions on everything the book does.

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

Next, let’s open the drawers—nested in the bottom one you’ll find a Viewing Box (yeah, I know … a box, within a box, within a box … sorry.) that consists of a window, a background panel, and two tabs that stick out from either side.

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

The tabs match up with the grooved unit at the top of the chest of drawers, and the Viewing Box slides into place.

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

So now the box is fully expanded, and the book is assembled for use. Now comes the fun part.

Take a closer look at the Viewing Box, and open the top two drawers.

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

Inside the drawers you’ll find a series of cut-out cards, each printed with a different image. These little image flats slide right into the slots of the Viewing Box,

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

and face out the window to form an instant picture—kind of like an old-fashioned stage set.

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

Now here’s the thing:

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

There are 120 flats to choose from. One hundred and twenty. Each one hand-printed, hand-painted, hand-cut.

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

By combining, layering and switching the flats in and out of the Viewing Box, you can create seemingly endless scenes of Mt Rainier. I came up with one hundred, and documented them as part of the book (again, I’ll elaborate later), but I’m more interested in how many you can dream up.

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

(Hint: a lot. Thousands. Millions. To be precise, 1.4 x 1015, or 1.4 quintillion, if you really wanted to push the envelope.)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Local Conditions: One Hundred Views of Mt. Rainier (At Least)
Edition size: 26 numbered books and 5 roman-numeraled artist proofs
Book size: 10 x 8 x 8 inches when closed
Viewing window: 3 x 5 inches

Artist book consisting of viewing box and 120 image flats, illustrated and compiled from data collected in person, on location, over the course of two years. Housed in a set of drawers with nested stab-bound book and Japanese-style outer wrapper. Images and maps are hand-drawn, letterpress printed and individually hand-painted with watercolor. All image flats are hand-cut.

For price/purchase info, please contact me.

Edited to add (November 2011): As a supplement to the artist book, I also created a suite of 15 limited-edition letterpress prints, featuring some of my favorite scenes from the book. Just like the flats in the book, each print is letterpress printed and hand-painted with watercolor. You can find all 15 prints in the shop.

Colophon reads:

Japanese artist Katsushika Hokusai (1759 – 1849) is perhaps best known for his seminal works, Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji and One Hundred Views of Mt. Fuji. The two series of woodblock prints, published from 1829 to circa 1847, depict the sacred peak within the context of landscapes and scenes of daily life. At the heart of the series is Hokusai’s own obsession with immortality, and his fascination with Fuji’s eternal presence.

Therein lies the rub: Fuji is anything but eternal. Beyond the usual, abstract geologic transience of eroding rock and drifting continents, Fuji is an active stratovolcano. Its days—and those of the lives and lands at its base—are numbered.

Here in Washington state, just forty miles southeast of my home, lies Fuji’s taller, more volatile, American twin. Variously named Tacobet, Tahoma and Ti’Swaq’, among others, by the region’s indigenous peoples,  or simply “The Mountain” by contemporary locals—its most arbitrary moniker, coined in 1792 by Captain George Vancouver, is the one that stuck: Mount Rainier.

It’s easy to forget Rainier’s impermanence. It has presided over thousands of years of indigenous culture, followed by the encroachment and permanent occupation of white settlers. It oversaw the construction of the Northern Pacific Railroad, the fever of the Klondike Gold Rush, the splendor of the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition. It stood in judgment while the American descendants of Hokusai’s countrymen were imprisoned beside the wooden-frame rollercoaster of the Western Washington Fairgrounds, at the internment center nicknamed Camp Harmony. And it has watched the rise and decline and rise again of Tacoma, the City of Destiny lovingly misnamed in its honor.

Yet all the while, Rainier has changed as much as the tableau at its feet. Its volcanic restlessness shifts its form, as our capricious Northwestern weather masks its appearance. It hides, or dominates, depending on the time of day or year. Even we have proved a catalyst, as our warming climate chases its alpine glaciers into retreat at the speed of industry.

And one day—whether tomorrow or in a million years, in an explosion of ash or by the erosion of time—Mount Rainier will disappear completely. I can’t begin to predict the future, but I can attempt to capture the present moment. One hundred present moments, to be exact. If nothing else, Local Conditions is a reminder of the lesson of this place: that here in the Ring of Fire, we never see the same Mountain twice.

* * *

Illustrated, designed, printed and bound by Chandler O’Leary, through freak snowstorms, record heat, and a thousand gentle rains in Tacoma, Washington. Each of the book’s 120 image flats is illustrated and compiled from sketches, photographs and data collected in person, on location, from September 2008 to October 2010. All text and images were letterpress printed in Hokusai’s indigo ink, down the street at Springtide Press. Images and topographic map patterns are hand-drawn and watercolored.

For making it possible to turn this crazy idea into an even crazier reality, many heartfelt thanks to Jessica Spring, Sarah Christianson, the Tacoma Arts Commission, the University of Puget Sound Collins Memorial Library, and the Book Arts Guild. Thanks also to the weather, for always, despite a notorious reputation, seeming to hold just long enough for me to grab the camera and jump in the car.

Produced with the support of a Tacoma Artists Initiative Program grant from the City of Tacoma Arts Commission.

"Local Conditions" artist book about Mt. Rainier by Chandler O'Leary

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Grand opening

Exhibit for "Local Conditions" artist book by Chandler O'Leary

Photos by Sarah Christianson

The show is all set up,

Exhibit for "Local Conditions" artist book by Chandler O'Leary

and the book is officially out in the world.

Exhibit for "Local Conditions" artist book by Chandler O'Leary

Many thanks to the enormous crowd of folks who descended upon the opening last night—and to my amazing friend Sarah Christianson for providing every kind of emotional and practical support I can think of.

Exhibit for "Local Conditions" artist book by Chandler O'Leary