Part I.
Typo Bilder Buch (Typo Picture Book) (2012), by Romano Hänni, is an artist’s book made of cardboard and paper towels. Hänni letterpress printed 65 copies of the book. He used the colors red, yellow, blue, and black. There is some readable text, printed in German, but most of the book is made up of illustrations made out of typography. Hänni uses both serif and sans-serif typeface, along with some of his own printing forms, to create some obscure shapes and some recognizable images. These typographic scenes were printed onto sheets of paper towel, which were then stitched together and bound in a cardboard cover with a paper dust jacket. It comes with a four-page English translation of the German text.
Hänni’s Website also offers the following description of the work:
The printing workshop represents the available raw materials: Lead characters, synthetics and wood, brass lines and signs, typographic signs and lead symbols. The typo pictures were composed from individual parts and printed on the hand proofing press; some of them were superimposed in several printing cycles. They are intended to mutually influence and merge into each other and to display an inner connection.
The page format was determined by the paper: Paper towels, maxi roll; composition: 100% oxygen-bleached pulp (54 g/m2± 5%), wet strength additives, agents; roll length: 62,1 m ± 2%, sheet size: 23×26 cm, ± 2%, paper from responsible sources.
Part II under the cut:
Part II.
Note: I went to see this book in Special Collections only once. I thought I would be able to return before the project was due, but I was not. Unfortunately, my best friend needed help with a family emergency this past week. I already know that I’ll be revising this, but I tried to make the most of what I have.
The first time I saw Typo Bilder Buch (2012), last spring on a field trip to Special Collections in Digital Humanities class, I thought the book must be a very serious work of modern art. While I won’t entirely disown that description, it certainly isn’t the first way I’d describe the book now. My perception changed this semester when I learned that the title meant Typo Picture Book. It then became an unserious work of post-modern art in my mind. I considered the implications of pictures made of typos printed on paper towels, and my mental image changed further. It became a commentary on fixity and obsolescence. I used Google Translate to translate one page while we looked closer at the books in class. The page held only a poem and a line at the bottom of the page. The poem was 10 lines, nine words plus one dash: “Der/Sinn/dieses/Buches/ist/seine/Sinnlosigkeit/—/oberflächlich/betrachtet.”
— Three translations offered using Google Translate:
- The/meaning/of/this book/is/its/superficial/—/meaninglessness
- The/meaning/of this/book/is/its/meaninglessness/—/superficially/viewed
- The/downside/of this book/is its meaninglessness/—/on the surface
All of my invented meanings were rejected by the book itself. And yet, I read in that poem implicit permission for each reader to create their own meaning from it. That’s what made me want to take a closer look at Typo Bilder Buch.
The first time I visited the SCUA Reading Room, I expected to return before trying to finish the project. I intentionally did not read the supplemental English translation. I wanted to try to solidify my analysis of the book without knowing what the content meant. Then, I could go back later and see how my interpretation aligned with the artist’s own interpretation. While I have not been able to go back yet, I have plenty of my own observations to share.
Although this book was printed in 2012, it already shows signs of wear. I noticed that some of the paper towel pages were already becoming un-plied along the edges, separating into multiple sheets. A few of the bottom corners had smudges. They were light enough that my phone camera would not pick them up in the reading room, but I could see them when I looked closely. It struck me that an artist who makes art out of paper towels must be alright with the quick degradation of that art.
Then, it struck me that “quick” was a relative term here. “Quick,” compared to what? Compared to a mass market cardboard picture book printed in 2012? Depending on the care of the publisher, those might also be disintegrating already. Compared to the other pages in Special Collections which have survived for dozens or hundreds of years without coming apart? What about the ones which have come apart, or which have been marked up, smudged, spilled upon, ripped, or otherwise irreversibly changed by all the hands that have touched them? Typo Bilder Buch pokes fun at the very idea that any book could be permanent. Rather than mourning this impermanence, it celebrates the mortality of the codex. It argues that a short lifespan is just as meaningful as a long one, perhaps because they are equally meaningless.
It does not suggest that one should simply give up, however, in the face of meaninglessness. On the contrary, the bright, primary colors suggest youthful energy. Where there is no given meaning, play is possible, and maybe even inevitable. The illustrations made of letters and shapes are presented without much explanation. If readers want to get anything out of the illustrations, any story or message or greater purpose, they must find it themselves. This book shows that meaninglessness is an opportunity to create meaning.
I’ll leave this post without a solid conclusion for now. When I revise this paper, I plan to compare my analysis with Hänni’s own commentary. Even if I am entirely off, however, the artist’s intentions cannot take away the meaning I have made of it, myself.