It’s a Limited Edition!

The next three months will be spent printing Byzantium’s next book, Textile Designs on Paper: An Archive from Early 19th-Century France. It’s slated for publication in the fall. While I’m doing that, I’ll be working on a few book projects for HM. One is another collaboration with Briony Morrow-Cribbs. I’m going to be updating this blog only every three months, so look for some news April 1 (and we’ll see then if it’s a joke). 

 

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The phrase “limited edition” gets thrown around very freely, from sneakers to drink coasters to rugs. I can’t get into the question of why stating that an object is one of only xxx copies available makes it more interesting or desirable to some people, but it does. Often the actual limitation isn’t even stated, which generally means it’s a big number, and possibly one determined entirely by sale, like any other product.

 

Just about any physical book (or car, or shoe, or...) is limited in quantity because at some point the production line gets turned off. The only exception with books I can think of is POD. If you’re going to make the limitation part of the book’s promotion – only 5,000 copies produced! – it really should be stated somewhere in the book itself. Some people sneeringly label this “manufactured rarity,” and in may cases rightly so: the limitation is governed entirely by how many copies the publisher thinks will sell. There is nothing about the production process that imposes a limit. 

 

I’m interested in the history of books that explicitly state how many copies were printed. The earliest statement I’ve found is from the 18th century, and the limitation was determined by the number of subscribers, so not a production constraint. Some types of intaglio plates begin to deteriorate after some number of impressions have been pulled, and these prints are the true first examples of a production limitation in publishing/printing I know of. This is why for some kinds of intaglio prints, collectors prefer low numbers, based on the assumption that the edition number corresponds with that copy’s place in the printing sequence. 

 

At HM, editions have always been limited by the number of impressions I can pull in a day (and the subset of that number that aren’t flawed in some way). I could print more if I used a press that did the inking and printing for me, but I don’t want to be that kind of printer. Because I print damp, a sheet needs to be worked off over a maximum of three days; that’s how long it retains a reasonably consistent level of dampness. (Redamping is not recommended, as there can be registration issues. Plus it’s just a lot more work.) So I have one day to complete each side, and a third for any extra runs (i.e. color). The actual materials I’m printing with – the type and paper – could produce hundreds more copies; the limitation is how much work I can accomplish in a day. 

 

For the recent Dunwich project, the limitation was based on this production limit, and also by the intaglio prints included. While the plates were steel faced to reduce wear from each impression, deterioriation/degradation of the image still becomes an issue after a certain point. So there were practical/physical limitations to how many copies could have been in the edition. If I was a better or faster printer (the two do not really cohabit well) the edition could have been 10 or maybe even 20 more, but not double. And I’m not a better or faster printer, so 50 (+ 6 h.c.) was the limit. 

 

 

All of which is to say, I wonder at people who tout something as being a “limited edition” but then don’t bother to state what the edition is, or do so in some completely ephemeral way. I purchased David Lynch’s Crazy Clown Time when it came out. Stuck to the shrink wrap was a small sticker stating this was copy 0273 of 2,000, the number having been printed with some kind of auto-mechanism. There was no mention of the limitation inside the case or (separate) book. Why bother? (FYI I bought it because I’d enjoyed Lynch’s other albums, especially Big Dream, but Crazy Clown was something else and I sold it, with the sticker preserved in a glassine envelope...)

 

This expanded version of Eno & Lanois’ Appolo album does a little better, with copies number auto-printed on the back. But there’s still the question of whether an “edition” of 12,000 is worthy of numbering, or even stating. 

 

Here’s a more recent example: Cursed is a collection of Charlie Engman’s AI-generated images. Interesting and provocative work, very cool. A signed edition is available from the publisher, for a paltry £5 premium. But his signature is on a little slip of paper tucked into the back of the book! Practically like an erratum! At the very least put it at the front, and if you aren’t going to spring for an entire leaf, at least maybe mount the signed plate on the title page? At least they didn’t call it a limited edition.

 

The size of an edition matters. There is no denying that a smaller edition run appeals to many collectors. That’s a strategic business decision, not a production constraint. What’s the upper limit for calling something a limited edition before it becomes meaningless? I don’t know. Five thousand copies of a book signed by Bob Dylan probably is legitimate (too bad he didn’t actually sign them); 5,000 copies of your self-published first novel would be questionable (even if not labelled a limited edition).

 

Whatever the reasons a publisher claims for publishing a book as a “limited edition,”, there is an iterative calculation of capital costs, time (labor), anticipated interest (market), and what the book’s combined elements objectively could demand in the current market. Everyone does the math differently, and I suspect the only common element is that people who are actual private printers (vs enterprises issuing “fine press” books produced under contract by others) end up earning a paltry hourly wage.

 

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I wrote most of this post before xmess. On December 27 The NY Times published this article about trade publishers discovering the marketing appeal of “deluxe limited editions.” These boutique lines from major commercial publishers, and a number of smaller imprints that have emerged over the past decade or two, have simply found profitable ways to superficially adopt the mantle of fine press printing without getting their hands inky. It’s no different than all the commercial Kelmscott-knock-off limited editions that proliferated in American and English publishing a century ago. No one confused them for the things they were aping.

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The text of colophons is a related topic that also interests me. The next post might be about colophons.

The Allen Press’ Pernicious Paper

 

When I finished printing Dunwich, I collected some of the Bodoni ornament tailpieces used in the book into a single broadside. Twenty-five were editioned, and numbers 1 through 20 were issued with the corresponding book. I also pulled some initial proofs and a handful of extras, all on a variety of papers. I have a small pile of miscellaneous sheets, generally decent sheets but insufficient in quantity to be useful for a project. The 25 numbered copies were printed on Golden Hind; there were proofs on hosho, and exactly 8 on a handmade sheet that was showing significant foxing caused by something in the pulp. It was clearly a handmade sheet, about 150 g, without much (or any) size (i.e. soft). 

These four sheets came in a strange group of papers I acquired from the home of a deceased printmaker in town. He had a hoard of interesting papers, but being a printmaker, none in great quantity. The four foxed sheets split to the size of the broadside, and the foxing seemed appropriate for a Dunwich poster, so I added them to the proofing pile. 

 

I obviously didn’t look past all the foxing. I marked the verso of these eight broadsides Pernicious Paper. It was only when I was trimming one down to fit inside a box that I noticed the watermark:

It is also watermarked British Hand Made.

Huh. According to the Allen Press bibliography, the first book they issued with their watermark was Murders at the Rue Morgue, in 1958. It was made by Richard de Bas (probably in 1957, since it would have had to be ready before they started printing the book). They say it was the most beautiful paper they ever used, so probably not what we have here. Plus, wrong country. 

For 1968’s The Brothers they switch to a custom sheet from Wookey Hole. I checked that book, it’s a different watermark. 

They stick with that until 1972’s The Bacchae, which goes back to R. de Bas. 

1974’s Temptation of St Anthony introduces a mouldmade sheet [!], then 1975’s Quartet was printed on a new custom sheet from the St Cuthbert mill. 

I lost interest at that point in the pursuit. The real question is, how did a few sheets of the Allens’ paper wind up in the home printing studio of a Vancouver artist who had nothing to do with books or letterpress? We’ll never know, and that’s my favorite kind of ending.

Farewell Dunwich

 

HM’s new edition of The Dunwich Horror was issued about two weeks ahead of schedule. Things had to be accelerated when news of a possible/probable Canada Post strike bubbled up. There were a few days of intensive invoicing, packing and shipping, but all the copies got out. All except the five bound by Claudia Cohen, which were always going to lag by a week or two. 

Claudia sewed the copies on four vellum slips, which were then laced into a quarter vellum case (with vellum tips). The boards were covered in Briony’s thorn etching, with a title label inset to the front. Endpapers are early 20th century Italian marble, a different pattern in each copy. The boxes are covered in the same Japanese cloth used for the rest of the edition. 

Like the other boxed copies (numbers 6–20), these include a suite of first state proofs and the Dunwich Tails pamphlet. They also include a suite of the eight aquatints printed on handmade Royal Watercolour Society paper, painted by the artist, and one of the copper plates (cancelled). This week I’m making folders (see below) to contain each of the plates within its box. 

Think that’s it. Thanks to everyone who followed along.

Dunwich in Bronze

 

All of the copies of Dunwich are in their cases, all that’s left to do is making slipcases for those that need them, and assembling the bits that will go into the boxed copies. There was a lot of painting of papers for this project last summer. The endpapers were all roller printed in bronze (both sides), then painted on one side with acrylics. They’re all kinda the same, but none are the same, as the two copies shown above illustrate.

The slipcases were (just) painted. The result reminds me of the cover to the 4AD compilation Lonely Is An Eyesore. The paper is an Italian machinemade that’s just the right weight for covering a slipcase. The insides are lined with some printed (boo) marble paper I bought when young & ignorant. Lining the inside of a box is a good use for it. 

The portfolios included in the boxed copies are 300g Fabriano mouldmade that was roller printed and then painted. Like the endpapers, but different. When you’re painting sheets like this, some paint always seeps around to the other side’s edges, so you need to work bigger than required, to trim that seepage away.

The board sheets are leaves of Reg Lissel’s handmade rag paper from an old HM book. Palimpsests. Most but not all were blank on one side. I painted them with an iridescent black acrylic last spring, then Briony printed an etching with bronze ink on them over the summer. The impression of what had been printed on them years ago shows a little more on some than others, if the light hits just right. 

Here’s some paper I used for a trial case. I was just playing around with leftover bronze ink and black paint.

So next month should be the end of the Dunwich posts. Copies will ship at the beginning of November, then I’ll find something else to do.

The Dunwich Papers

 

More than a decade ago, I saw a craiglslist posting for about 170 sheets of Barcham Green Hayle paper offered at the low low price of C$2 per. Apparently the seller was clearing out her dead father’s basement, or something like that. Not believing my luck in being the first to contact the seller, the sheets went into the storage locker where most of my paper is stashed, waiting for the right project to come along.

The tricky part of buying stacks of vintage or odd-lot paper like this is, you need a project that will use most of what you have, and have dimensions that suit whatever the sheet folds down to (e.g. folio, quarto, etc). There’s no point in using just a portion, then having to wait for another project that will accommodate the remainder. Otherwise you’re just wasting the paper. 

(The 2021 reprinting of Francesco Griffo’s foreword to his 1501 Petrarch is an example of a project conceived simply to make good use of a small stash of paper: Years ago I inherited about a dozen sheets of Richard de Bas. Lovely paper, but what do you do with a dozen sheets? I finally decided to think of something before it got lost or damaged.) 

For most HM projects, the one factor that’s essentially set from the beginning is the edition size: 50 is a typical maximum, and fewer copies is OK too. I’ve gotten a little better at printing over the years, and can now feel reasonably confident I’ll end up with 50 good sheets from a run if I print 65 (for a long time I’d print 75, because I was a crap printer). So, if my edition is going to be 50, I need enough paper to print at least 65 copies of each sheet. 

It was not my initial intention to use the Hayle for Dunwich. It was only after I’d been playing with design and format options for a while that I realized it would fit the page proportions I had settled on perfectly. And I had enough sheets to make 56 copies (the edition’s 50 numbered copies and the contributors’ six H.C. copies), with about 20 sheets left over to cover disasters. Almost: with the way I had the text run out, I was short one leaf (two pages), either the first (title page and ©) or last (story’s ending and colophon). I probably could have revised the setting to cram the text enough to free up two pages, but that wouldn’t be satisfactory. My solution was to print the title page on a leaf of different Barcham Green paper, Penhurst. It’s about the same weight as the Hayle, but a cream hue. I’ve always liked books that mix different papers, and I liked the way the title page stands out this way. 

Then another problem popped up: somewhere along the way, the number of sheets listed on the wrapper of my Hayle stash and the actual number decohered: I actually had only enough to make 52 copies. That meant (1) no mistakes, and (2) four of the 56 copies had to be on some other paper. 

Hmmm. 

I was already planning on using my old standby, Guarro laid, for the necessary initial sheets printed while fine-tuning the inking and makeready, so I could just add a few more sheets and make the four needed copies from Guarro. 

While pondering all this, I found in the paper vault a slim package with another English handmade, F. J. Head. It was about the same weight as the Hayle, but a cream hue, and just slightly smaller in one dimension. I had enough to print just three copies of Dunwich. That’s why in the end, 48 of the numbered copies and four of the H.C. are printed on Hayle; two of the numbered and one H.C. on F.J. Head, and one H.C. on Guarro. (If I’d had any disasters during printing, the number of copies on Guarro would have gone up.) The colophons of copies not printed on Hayle note which paper was used. From the exterior, the only way to tell is the FJH copies are about 1/8" narrower. 

So that’s a few downstream issues to be aware of if you start hording odd packages of old paper for use one day...

DUNWICH DETAILS

I’ll update dunwich.ca this month with photos of Briony’s prints and the completed book. We remain on track to issue copies in November. Meanwhile, the bookseller Jacob Quinlan will have a copy (ARC/NFS) on display at the Thomas Fisher Press Fair on September 7th. If you’re in Toronto, drop by. Jacob always has cool stuff.

What Happens After The Dunwich Horror?

 

I’ll be updating the The Dunwich Horror site this month, with a few images of a bound copy. Above & below are a few glimpses at the first bound copy with slipcase. Briony’s completed printing all the aquatints and covers, so now it’s all on me to make with the thread, glue & boards. 

I am disinclined to show much of the book before publication, particularly the prints. For now, below (taken through a glassine filter) is all you get. I want the first experience for people who’ve ordered it to be the complete book held in their hands, not select parts on a screen. Plus, I take lousy photos (again, see above). Once it’s issued I’ll update the Dunwich site a final time, with photos of the prints & bindings. Then the site goes away in January, to be replaced by something new. Exactly what the something new will be is getting much attention recently. Working on Dunwich with Briony has reminded me how much fun we have, and how we we bring the inspire each other to dig deeper. So I’m hoping – her schedule and interest pending – to do several more projects with her over the next year or two. My eyes are failing, my body aches (the handpress takes a toll), I may only have a few more ambitious publishing projects in me (given that a “few projects” would span five years or more), so I want to take advantage of Briony answering my phone calls as much as I can during that time.

I have three projects planned that will pair a brief (& narratively self-contained) excerpt from a novel with original prints, a different artist for each one. The brevity of these texts will allow me to play with some different types and papers, without having to devout an entire year of my life to the project. I think I’ll call them HM XRTS, although Intersticials is good too. We’ll see. The first one should will be ready by the start of next summer. Details to follow. I’m still talking to artists for the other two.

For years Reg Lissel and I have been idly talking about publishing a book about his adventures in papermaking, loaded with samples. I think we’ve finally settled on what the text could be. The next step is for each of us to pull out our stashes of his various papers, sort through them, and figure out what will be included, and how. I’d like to print that book in 2025, and issue it in early 2026. We’ll see.

Before any of these things happen, I’ve promised to print Byzantium’s next book. Titled Textile Designs on Paper: An Archive from Early 19th-Century France, it will continue their exploration of historical methods and materials in the graphic arts. In November 2023, the two were invited by textile historian Susan Meller to look at her collection of 19th-century French pattern books. These large, timeworn albums were filled with small, exquisite gouache designs painted on paper and created as patterns for printed cotton. The idea of combining paper with fabric arts was instantly beguiling, and so their next project began. Each copy of Textile Designs on Paper (4to, approx. 56 pp. + samples) will include approximately one hundred of these gouache paintings, along with an essay by Susan on the history of the designs, techniques and uses of printed French textiles; and an essay by Barbara on the pigments and dyes used to produce the paintings and the related fabrics. 

 

 

Each book will also include textile swatches that complement the gouache designs, and a dye book, containing cotton samples of the hues typical of the time. Claudia will bind the edition, in two formats: deluxe (copies 1–10) and regular (copies 11–26). Publication is slated for the second half of 2025.

AND ANOTHER THING!

I had a local metal fabricator make this cool jig for trimming the corners of my turn-ins. I’m sure real binders can just eyeball it. We might make a few more, now that he has the pattern on file; send a note if interested.

[no title given]

[Warning: this post assembled during day 5 of a wild summer not-covid-but-crazy-flu trip. Treat all claims accordingly...]

This month’s post features some ephemeral drawings by Briony Morrow-Cribbs, never published before & probably never to be seen again. They adorned the box that delivered 20 sets of first-state proofs (i.e. etchings) of her eight prints for The Dunwich Horror. She also sent a set of the prints after aquatinting. These first-state proofs, which will be included with the 20 boxed copies, will offer an engaging opportunity to see the tonal and depth qualities that aquatint adds to an etched plate. The image above is a detail from one. Right this minute Briony’s working on the etching that will be printed on the sheets for the quarter binding, and she reports that it is “so sexy.” The last I heard, her plan was for it to be a tangle of thorns, but if anyone could make that sexy it’s BMC. 

My brain fever was preceded by one of my frequent bouts of feeling overly encumbered with stuff, and I decided to clear out any books I haven’t looked at in over a year, especially big ones - they take up so much real estate. (To be clear, I’m talking about things I’ve “collected” over the years, not HM books.) Some have gone to a local bookseller interested in book arts, design & etc. The more obscure titles have been wrangled into a list, which can be seen here. Tell any & all friends who might be interested - highly motivated seller. This is the link to the list.

(p.s. to kind people who want to send me books or etc., thank you but please don’t! I’m entirely focused on losing the psychic and actual weight of possessions. I want to get my books down to a single small shelf, and my wardrobe to a single narrow rack.)

With luck and industry, I may have a complete, bound copy of Dunwich to show for the August blog.