Saturday morning

Before I leave this morning, I have to pack some things to read. I picked up a zine and a book on colour and set out to a coffee shop to ease my way into the weekend. I purchased the zine and the book following my reflection on reference works earlier this week, which had me thinking that I wanted to vary the kinds of books on my shelf.

This year I haven’t read many fiction books. Most of my reading has been devoted to textbooks and what I read online: blogs and the news and articles and everything in between. I would love to read more fiction, but I often find it hard to stay focused on longer works, especially when my mind is busy.

I used to read often on Saturday mornings, finding comfort in the tradition of some quiet reading times while the world was waking up, but I haven’t followed that tradition in a while. That is, until this morning, where I found myself sitting in a coffee shop, reading my zine and studying my book on colour.

The zine I was reading was called “Books as Art Practice”, a reflection on what it means to create printed works. This zine comes at an apt time for me as I reflect more on what we gain and lose from different mediums and, in turn, come to appreciate each medium in more depth. I love the focus that I feel when I am with a book, but I also love the abundance of snippets from the world that I find on the web. When I think of mediums, I think less about their merits and drawbacks so much as their affordances – what does the web allow that other mediums don’t? What does the web make more difficult that are inherent in other mediums?

When it comes to the web, I have been thinking about time, especially in the context of blogs. Blog posts have published dates. But what if those dates were hidden? Available, but hidden. My thought was that words are already steeped in time, being written in and of a moment. I experimented with a “timeless” mode on my website that hides all the publication dates of works, and I admit I am intrigued. Scrolling through my archives without seeing publication dates, my anthology of self speaks not in years but in moments, in seasons. Presented in this way, my writing is still a blog in that entries are printed in reverse chronological order, but each entry is without a specific date.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

The book on colour that I was reading, published by the National Gallery in London, featured works of art through the centuries grouped by colour. This book was different from most I have read: it was predominantly visual. While engaged with the book, I was moving between reading and visually analysing, between understanding concepts through words and appreciating details communicated through colour and depth and shadow and tint.

I started at the end of the book, on the chapter on monochrome. Works with few colours appeal to me. I love seeing how much detail you can add to a work with few colours. One of my favourite works is mostly monochrome, except for a blue flower in the centre of the painting. And yet despite my love of monochrome works, I also love the Impressionists, among whose defining characteristics is their use of colour.

While I was aware I couldn’t see as many details as I might be able to see if I were studying a painting in a museum, I did enjoy how much I could study each work from its printed version. I appreciated that the book magnified particular aspects of images so I could study features in more depth, like the boats in Peter Balke’s The Tempest that I didn’t discern until seeing them up close.

Closing the book after being immersed in art for some time, I started to think about technology; this is a relationship that pops up every so often in my mind, even when I am not necessarily studying the intersection of the two.

We live in time with a rich visual culture, enabled in large part by technology. The book I was reading was enabled by technology: high-resolution photography, the ability to print with such detail. Indeed, art and technology are not separate; today, many aspects of our visual culture are intertwined with the technologies we have.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

After my reading, I ran a few errands and went for a long walk, listening to a podcast about reading and enjoying looking at the leaves and the trees and the fields and the distance. Then, I did as I do: sat down, with a beverage – in this case, a glass of water, having been sufficiently fuelled from the cup of coffee I had consumed earlier – and looked through my notes of the day, with wonder and curiosity and reflection, ready to start writing.

anthology of self reference works National Gallery in London Books as Art Practice