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Thursday, October 7, 2010

From Michelangelo to The Cubist Epoch

I've got quite a collection of art books, from Michelangelo to The Cubist Epoch, from Hess to Drawing Cartoons. And I've read and reread, referred to and consulted them on a regular bases for years. This drawing is only one half of the lot in the great room, (in our neck of the woods, another way to refer to the living room).
the rest are next bookshelves over, upstairs in the guest room, in the linen closet, and downstairs in the bookshelves I had built there. Then there are the ones just lying about in stacks and in baskets. I love them all. And this latest one, Thiebaud, is the greatest. We've share so many sensibilities, I feel a kinship.

The squares on the lower shelf in this drawing are pictures of my kin. I gave them that space temporarily. When Honey starts complaining about the stacks of art books on the coffee table, my kin will have to find another home. I must have my books within easy reach.

Some of my books I've lost to flood, when Honey didn't turn off the outside water supply and the pipes froze and burst. Some were salvageable. Others no. But I hunted them down and bought them again. Replaced every one. My insurance company was very understanding and paid the price. A person's books are her portrait.

I have no desire to own a Kindle. I love the way the books look on my shelves. I love they way they look stacked on tables. I love to touch them and stroke their glossy jackets. I love to read and underline and write in the margin. I'm not the only one either. A couple of the books I replaced were used and the previous owners had left their marks, marks a lot like mine. Kindred spirits brought together. With a Kindle, my shelves would be bare, a place for what? Hummels? I don't think so.

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