From Initial Spark to the Studio Bench: October Studio Notes

The Arizona summer made it clear who was in charge last month. The relentless heat kept me indoors, giving me a quiet excuse to retreat deep into my studio and pour my energy into my upcoming artist book, Eudaimonia.

Even with the usual administrative noise that comes with keeping a studio running, my mind kept drifting back to the tactile reality of the object itself—how it will feel in a reader's hands, how the structure will hold the story.

The idea for this book first took root early in 2024. Ideas often need time to settle before they reveal how they want to be made. Over these past months, that initial spark of imagination has given way to active discovery—a shift from dreaming to the frustrating, beautiful work of finding the exact physical materials to carry the emotion through.

The project explores the changing landscape of a lifelong relationship across three distinct volumes. To ground this narrative, I chose a French Fold format, where the hidden inner folds reveal solid blocks of color.

Because the paper must yield to tight scoring without cracking or exposing raw white fibers, finding the right paper became a central puzzle. I initially gravitated toward Hahnemühle Photo Rag Book and Album (220 gsm) for its smooth, tactile surface. But cotton rag’s long fibers and coating, while gorgeous for single pages, make it prone to cracking along a sharp crease when heavy ink is involved.

So I turned to Moab Lasal Matte and Red River Premium Matte. Alpha-cellulose pulp papers take deep ink without curling or cracking along the fold. At first, I loved Lasal’s stiffness—it let the book stand boldly on display, showing off those hidden inner folds. But as I kept handling it, something felt wrong. It was too rigid, creating a heavy structure that felt out of sync with the fragile, delicate idea behind the book.

© 2026 Louise Levergneux. Studio mock-ups demonstrating the French Fold behavior—testing paper response along the spine folds and previewing the interior palette.

That realization sent me back to the drawing board. I started experimenting with paper after paper, searching for something that balanced structural integrity with quiet grace. I’ve landed on Asuka 70g from Hiromi Paper. It has a lovely, subtle body that supports double-sided printing, but page turns feel soft, intimate, and inviting. I’m currently waiting on the right paper dimensions to print a full prototype and see if my intuition holds up.

Alongside the paper trials, I’ve been searching for the precise colors to peek from the folds—three primary hues to reflect the emotional passage of time.

© 2026 Louise Levergneux. Color study for the three-part narrative. Testing five tonal variations across grey, warm amber, and deep blue to capture the shift of a lifetime relationship.

I’ve been testing variations in tone and value—like the grey, amber, and deep blue swatches above—trying to find colors that quietly breathe under the text and poetry rather than compete with them. The next step is seeing how these inks actually settle into the surface of the paper.

As autumn settles in, the studio is coming alive with incoming materials—some to complete the edition of Nostos Algos, and others dedicated to this new work. I’m especially looking forward to working with Zoë at Cave Paper again to source its rich, thick flax paper.

After months of testing, searching, and waiting, the planning is starting to quiet down. Now comes the best part: pulling up to my desk, opening Photoshop, and figuring out the best layout to express what’s been in my head for so long.

How Artists’ Books Make Social History Personal

The longer I make artists’ books, the more I understand them as ways of thinking through time. They allow me to notice how feelings change, how personal experiences stay with us, how places become familiar, and how language moves around what it cannot quite express.

My recent books have brought me closer to the textures of everyday life: memory, relationships, media, place, and personal experience. These are the things that shape how we move through the present. Infatuation explores the way media can shape our earliest ideas of love. Pistolero brings older travel imagery into contact with digital fan culture. Paradigm Shift considers how displacement can change our sense of home and belonging. The images below offer glimpses of how these ideas take shape through sequence, material, and form.

© 2025 Louise Levergneux. Paradigm Shift is an accordion book composed of four double-sided panels that charts a transformation in my understanding of home and identity.

© 2023 Louise Levergneux. In Pistolero, the sensuousness of sand and its visual association with the male form create a fresh perspective on language and invite a whimsical, tongue-in-cheek narrative.

© 2022 Louise Levergneux. Infatuation explores coming of age through a recurring dream rooted in a cherished encounter with an « amour fou », allowing the dreamer to enter an unattainable world.

These subjects may appear personal or ordinary, but they are shaped by the cultural and historical conditions in which we live. I do not see attention to personal experience as an escape from contemporary concerns. Personal and ordinary experiences are not separate from the major concerns of the present; they are the means through which those concerns are lived and understood. Through memory, relationships, experiences, and daily rituals, larger questions enter individual lives.

This has made me think about the different kinds of work that artists’ book collections can hold. Academic and research libraries play an important role in preserving work that responds to urgent subjects such as climate change, political conflict, migration, identity, public health, and social justice. These subjects matter deeply, and artists’ books can approach them with an intimacy and complexity that other forms sometimes cannot. I also believe that collections are strengthened by work that approaches the present through personal experience, memory, relationships, popular culture, and the ordinary details of daily life. Together, these perspectives help create a fuller record of the time in which we live.

At the same time, work that responds to the present more indirectly—through family history, popular culture, relationships, personal experience, or memory—may be less immediately visible as socially engaged. Its connection to the larger concerns of an era may emerge gradually, through the ways people experience and interpret their everyday lives.

These quieter subjects also tell us how people live through history. Libraries can preserve not only what a period discussed publicly, but also how that period was felt and experienced in private. Personal experience is one of the ways social history becomes real.

Artists’ books are especially suited to this kind of work. They preserve experience through sequence, touch, scale, movement, and material, as well as through words and images. They can hold a private memory while opening it toward shared questions.

Contemporary collections need both the visible pressures of an era and the private lives that carry them. My work approaches contemporary life through memory, relationships, personal experience, and the ordinary rituals through which we make meaning. These are not detours from the present. They are ways of understanding how the present is lived.

A resilient archive preserves both the visible pressures of an era and the private lives that carried them.

From Blog to Bookwork: Tracing My Creative Process

I’m delighted to share my new artist book, Owning My Process, now available as a zine. This project grew out of a significant turning point in my artistic practice—a shift that began in 2021, when I reached an unexpected standstill. Instead of pushing ahead on autopilot, I chose to pause and look more closely at how I truly work: what guides my decisions, the prototypes I make, and the revisions that follow each project.

This zine gathers a series of blog posts I wrote in 2022, when I began work on my artist book Infatuation. Each month, I reflected on the project—its development, prototypes, colour choices, and the many small steps along the way. The concept and raw material for the zine have been living on my computer and work table since then; this finished version is the active expression of that study. It expands outward from a single title to consider my bookwork more broadly. Owning My Process has also undergone many title changes, each one emerging from this careful, honest examination of my own creative habits.

© 2026 Louise Levergneux. From the notebook to the final page. This spread in Owning My Process bridges the gap between chaotic early notes and structured color curation. I love looking back at how a simple scribble evolves into a full visual language.

Through short texts and visual explorations, I trace the path from the first spark of an idea to a finished artist book. I look at:

• instinctive choices and deliberate planning

• the role of materials and physical constraints

• the practical side of making: testing, adjusting, discarding, and starting again

© 2026 Louise Levergneux. Inside Owning My Process: A closer look at the chapter on prototypes. This page breaks down the messy, beautiful reality of testing ideas before they become final products. What does your prototyping phase look like?

The format, structure, paper and printing choices, visual elements, and binding are all intentional parts of the narrative. I chose a zine layout to create an intimate, immediate experience—echoing the raw, unpolished quality of an idea book found in most working studios.

This zine documents my working habits, revealing aspects of an artist’s practice that usually remain unseen. It’s written for readers curious about how artists’ books come together, and for those who want a behind-the-scenes look at one artist’s way of working.

For additional photos of Owning My Process, you can view the book on my website

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When My Work Forgot What to Be

as an artist my studio is my sanctuary
and my solitary refuge
is an accepted given that i labor in quiet
answering to no one but my own internal insight
to dictate how i want to express myself

my artwork has always been the anchor
of my life's purpose
a space where i am fully present
throughout the inspiration phase
the development phase
and the creation of the final piece

when i am in that flow state
the world fades
time dissolves

and i look forward to sharing my message with others

over the last couple of years
my solitude shifted from a productive refuge
into a profound inquiry

who am i
and where do i belong

these are not new questions
but rather ongoing ones

how do i continue to produce
when my very self is in flux

this difficult season of reinvention also meant
I didn’t know how to be
my work no longer knows what to be

i change
my work changes

while my mental and physical being
still knew how to create
completing my artist's books
became an exhausting task
my flow was broken

ultimately
this period of profound searching
and navigating an unmet yearning
still gave birth to new artists' books

i realized i had just temporarily misplaced myself

i’m still on a journey
the art still calls
the core inspiration remains the same

i have more to say

© 2018 Louise Levergneux. A beautiful sunrise in Gila Bend, Arizona

Life happens, and sometimes it leaves our creative projects completely stalled. How do you unstick your creativity when heavy life experiences weigh you down? Let me know your favorite tricks or rituals.

Pushing Convention with Paper Can Be Fun—or Not!

Behind the scenes of my latest artist book, where every sheet of paper argued back. A story about listening to materials, embracing glitches, and letting the book decide what it wants to become.

Some book projects arrive like a joyful sprint; others feel more like a slow, stubborn conversation with the materials. What began as a clear emotional concept turned into a year-long paper dilemma, as each new sheet, coating, and printing test pushed back against my plans. This blog post is the story of how a simple desire to capture longing on the page led me into the unpredictable territory of pushing convention with paper — sometimes fun, and sometimes decidedly not.

When I’m ready to move forward with a book project, I begin by refining my idea and asking how it wants to be perceived. The concept is one thing; the making is another. Material choices are where my projects truly begin to breathe. For each book, I select papers and structures that echo the subject and purpose, setting a mood that ties the physical object to the concept. For my latest project, I needed a tactile and auditory experience. I immersed myself in Japanese papers — Asuka, Moab Unryu, Kozo — and eventually discovered Abaca paper in an artist’s studio. Its crisp rustle opened a new path. That sound led me to research hand-dyed Abaca in shades of blue, trying to marry color, texture, and sound into a single gesture.

After a year, I found Frosted Abaca paper. It felt like the perfect answer. But the process of making often resisted my initial solutions. The prints were not vibrant, and the paper bled when I printed with my Epson SureColor P700. The technical failure was more than a setback; it forced me to reconsider the relationship between ink and substrate. One possible route was to work with a fine-art print studio to produce an edition of eight copies — a beautiful prospect, but the cost weighed heavily on the project.

I then turned to InkAid, a coating that enables direct inkjet printing on unconventional papers such as handmade Abaca. On paper, the process seemed straightforward. In practice, pressing the sheets after coating did not fully flatten them; tiny ridges remained. As the paper traveled through the printer, those raised areas caught the print head, smearing the ink and interrupting the image. Here, the material was speaking clearly: it would not behave as a neutral surface. Additionally, because handmade paper batches vary, sourcing consistent supplies was difficult, highlighting the unpredictability of working with such materials.

These repeated dead ends began to drain my energy. So I allowed the project to recede slightly while I worked on another book. That pause was not an abandonment but part of the process — a chance to let frustration settle and to return with renewed patience. Still, I kept circling back, determined to find a way to make the paper physically embody the book’s meaning.

© 2026 Louise Levergneux. I ultimately selected the sky blue, pale blue, blue, and navy papers from the ECG Echizen Shikibu Color Gampi series. Handmade by Yamaki Paper Mill in Fukui, Japan, these durable sheets are dyed in a subtle range of shades and remain translucent, even in the deeper tones. They are crafted from 100% Japanese Gampi fiber.

At a certain point, every long project raises the same question: when does one give up on a work that seems to generate more obstacles than successes? When I finally returned to this project after letting it rest, that question surfaced again. Persisting through these challenges helped me see that I was forcing materials rather than listening to them, reinforcing the value of perseverance.

During a visit to Hiromi Paper Inc., I discovered Echizen Shikibu Color Gampi and Asuka paper. This pairing offered a new structure: two distinct but related surfaces, each carrying a different part of a narrative. I felt the project come back to life — but as I’ve learned, materials have their own timing and intentions.

I tested printing with the Asuka paper and arrived at a presentation of the pages with images that felt right. On the Gampi paper, I brushed on two to three coats of InkAid to stiffen the very delicate paper, listening for just the right crisp rustle as the pages were paginated. The sound became a form of editing: too soft, and the pages lost presence; too harsh, and they overwhelmed the images. Only when that balance was found did I move on to the many assembly steps needed to complete a prototype of the book.

© 2026 Louise Levergneux. A sample page printed on Asuka Paper from Hiromi Paper Inc.

Not all glitches arise from paper alone. I’d met this kind of resistance before, while choosing the bookcloth for Pistolero. I had initially bought a small roll of Lineco linen bookcloth, available only in 17 × 19 in (43 × 47 cm), at the local art shop, simply to test color and texture on the prototype. Buying by the yard would have been more sensible in the long run, but at that stage, I was still listening to what the book needed. Once I committed, I contacted supplier after supplier, only to hear of backorders and uncertain restocks. For nearly three months, I navigated these practical constraints. Eventually, I tracked down nine small rolls — an expensive and time-consuming solution, but one that reinforced a core lesson: patience and flexibility are not optional; they are integral to the creative process.

In the end, this book reminded me that true collaboration with materials means accepting uncertainty, trusting the process, and allowing the work to reveal the form it needs to take.

Paradigm Shift: An Artists' Book of Ongoing Transformation

In 2022 and 2023, I experienced creative momentum. My recurring summer journeys to California became a catalytic site for conceptual development, giving rise to multiple book projects. One idea explored the notions of “before” and “after,” transformation, temporal rupture, and shifting perception. From this reflection emerged Paradigm Shift, an artist book rooted in these concerns.

As the project evolved, the question of structure became central. In seeking a form that could sustain continuity without a fixed beginning or end, I chose the coverless accordion format over a linear one. This structure supports the work’s cyclical logic and reflects its engagement with transition, nonlinear experience, and the instability of perception.

I Paradigm Shift considers transformation not as a singular event, but as an ongoing condition. The work inhabits a threshold state in which perception shifts, meaning is continually reconstituted, and the environment functions not as backdrop but as an extension of identity, memory, and relation.

© 2025 Louise Levergneux. Pagination of the sequence of Paradigm Shift as a cyclical encounter with the book.

© 2025 Louise Levergneux. Following the fourth and final panel, the reader is invited to turn to the verso to enter the work’s second movement.

© 2025 Louise Levergneux. The final page functions not as closure, but as a threshold…

© 2025 Louise Levergneux. —folding the experience back onto its origin and returning the viewer to the book’s point of departure.

Rather than resolving transformation, the work remains within it, inhabiting the threshold where perception shifts and meaning is continually reconstituted. Paradigm Shift thus becomes a space of ongoing transition, shaped by meaning and defined by transformation as a continual condition of being rather than a singular event.

With that said, I am pleased to introduce Paradigm Shift, which was produced between March 2024 and November 2024 and exhibited as part of Ritual - an International Juried Exhibition of Book Art at 23 Sandy in 2025.

To view the book on my website, click here.

© 2023 Louise Levergneux. Originally captured at San Buenaventura State Beach in Ventura, California, this image is the background of the composite for the second page of Paradigm Shift, as shown in the photo below.

© 2024 Louise Levergneux. The photograph at San Buenaventura State Beach in Ventura establishes an important element of the work’s visual language, informing its larger narrative.

What's Been Happening in the Studio?

© 2021 Louise Levergneux.This celebratory edition showcases 84 unbound die-cut manhole covers, two accordion books (in French and in English), and inserts from previous volumes. The entire piece is housed in a clear acrylic box.

Since the National Gallery of Canada Library acquired City Shields in 2001, my series has provided a personal perspective on urban infrastructure and travel memories. I’m thrilled that the gallery remains so invested in this project and its relevance to their collection.

Peter Trepanier, Head of Reader Services at the Library of the National Gallery of Canada, wrote about City Shields for the ARLIS /MOQ (Montreal, Ottawa, and Quebec chapter of the Art Libraries Association of North America) in spring 2007. An enthusiast of the series, Trepanier collected every volume I published until he retired in 2017. In his article, he noted that City Shields bridges the gap between the everyday and the extraordinary by transforming overlooked elements of urban infrastructure into objects of contemplation. Peter also noted that my work extends the legacy of German photographers Bernd and Hilla Becher into the realm of pedestrian streets. He reminds us that aesthetic experiences exist beyond museums or grand monuments; we can find them right beneath our feet — in ordinary surfaces that quietly record the passage of time and use. Ultimately, Trepanier believed that City Shields promotes a more mindful approach to navigating the world, turning even the simplest manhole cover into a place of memory, significance, and visual pleasure. The NGC library acquired the final volume, the 20th Anniversary edition of City Shields, in 2022.

A few months ago, Kathleen O’Reilly, Cataloguer at the National Gallery of Canada, reached out to me to feature City Shields in a new article titled 'Artists’ Books: Conceptual, Experimental and Artistic' for the gallery's online magazine, which explores its artists’ book collection.

I was very pleased to learn that my project, which began in 1999 during a trip to Scotland, was still of interest, as they discussed what modern artists’ books are and why they matter. What connects them is creativity, originality, and a focus on ideas. The article explains how artists’ books emerged from 20th-century avant-garde movements such as Dada, Surrealism, Futurism, Expressionism, Conceptualism, and Fluxus. By the 1960s, artists’ books also adopted political meanings, challenging art institutions and markets by offering cheaper, more accessible works. Ultimately, the text argues that artists’ books question traditional art forms and gallery displays, encourage personal, reflective engagement, and play with the relationship between words and images. The National Gallery of Canada’s collection illustrates how diverse and experimental this medium can be.

Read the full article

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Unveiling My New Artist Book: Pistolero

In my June 2023 blog, I left you wondering what I would do with the various visual elements I was experimenting with for a project titled Incognito, inspired by the textures and colors of California beaches. As we traveled, I continued planning the book. I needed to create a seamless panoramic background and ensure that the sand image on the accordion's reverse side matched perfectly by carefully adjusting each photo's hue, saturation, and brightness. Once my concept was clear, the initial title, Incognito, no longer captured the playful spirit of the idea. I began writing the statement or description to support the original idea. It was then that I realized the concept was derived from two experiences.

While brainstorming for my artist book Infatuation, I unexpectedly found myself in a rabbit hole of FanFiction stories that introduced me to the word « tallywacker. » The playful language I encountered offered a fresh, whimsical perspective, full of humor.

As an artist, collecting is in my nature. Walking barefoot on California beaches, feeling the sand stimulate my nerve endings, created a sensual experience I wanted to preserve. I initially planned to display my sand collection in my studio and was fortunate to find perfect containers. It suddenly struck me that when the vials were turned upside down and filled with sand, they resembled phallic symbols, evoking themes of masculinity, power, and psychology.

Ultimately, blending the sensory pleasures of the beaches with the playful, rebellious spirit of the quotes gave my artist book its unique character. The design was crafted as an accordion, reflecting its layered, complex theme.

After printing, cutting, folding, and gluing the pages, self-doubt arose due to a life’s challenge, making even the simple hardcover case feel daunting. I wanted the binding to be as smooth and enjoyable as the process of creating the book. I decided to work with Andrew Huot of Big River Bindery, even though it exceeded my budget. Sometimes, a little help makes all the difference in completing an artist book.

© 2024 Louise Levergneux. Andrew Huot is showing me around his bindery in Toronto, Ontario.

I am thrilled to finally share Pistolero with you! Take a look at my new artist book here.

© 2024 Louise Levergneux. My newly bound copies of Pistolero were at-the-ready for pickup at Big River Bindery in August 2024.

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