Finding the Right Feel: Material Choices, Printing Trials, and a Trip to Cave Paper for Eudaimonia

When I finally looked up from my work table the other day, I checked the calendar and cringed. An entire month had slipped by—a blur of endlessly rethinking my paper choices and color swatches for my new project, Eudaimonia.

At this stage in my creative journey, the development phase doesn't always come easily. I used to catch a spark of inspiration, and every step would fall into place seamlessly. Now, I find myself caught in a tug-of-war between my original concepts and the new materials required to bring them to life. Truthfully, this is the hardest part of my process.

How do you navigate that moment in your own creative work when the materials begin asserting their own demands on your original vision?

The Printing Dilemma

For days now, I’ve been printing color swatches on Asuka paper, yet I’m still not quite satisfied with the results. Getting the ink to play nice with the paper was its own trial; because Asuka paper naturally absorbs so much, I had to carefully fine-tune my settings in Photoshop to prevent over-saturation and bleed. After navigating endless options in the print window, I finally succeeded; the paper no longer curls, and the ink settles beautifully into the paper's delicate surface.

However, after all that effort, a new issue emerged: I have a feeling the 70g Asuka paper from Hiromi Paper isn't quite stiff enough to allow the book to stand upright on its own. That structural support is crucial—the hidden inner folds need to stand firm to reveal the solid blocks of color that drive the emotional arc of Eudaimonia.

© 2026 Louise Levergneux. Fine-tuning ink settings and paper swatches to ensure the gradient values and deep blues render accurately without curling or oversaturating the delicate Asuka paper.

Testing Structures and Weight

I’m nearly ready to print a prototype for the third book, and I plan to experiment with the Red River Premium Matte 32 lb paper I have on hand. Previously, I tried the Asuka 150g, but it proved far too rigid once folded, feeling even stiffer than my favorite Moab Lasal paper I tested last month. The goal is to hit that sweet spot: flexible enough not to look rigid, yet sturdy enough to support the structure and showcase those hidden colors.

Alongside paper selection, I’ve also chosen a binding style that aligns with the heart of the project. To bring the core concept to life, I intentionally chose a soft cover. Relationships require flexibility to thrive, and I wanted the physical structure of the book, devoid of rigid, hard covers, to mirror that truth.

A Day Trip to Cave Paper

To pick up sheets of paper that had been unavailable back in the spring to finish my artist's book Nostos algos, I made the two-hour drive down to Tucson to visit Zoë at Cave Paper. While browsing their website beforehand, several other options caught my eye, and I made a mental note to inspect the rich, thick flax papers in person for Eudaimonia.

Mid-month, I found myself at Cave Paper, enjoying a wonderful conversation with Zoë about her handmade papers and brainstorming how I could incorporate these beautiful sheets into my new artists’ book project.

© 2026 Louise Levergneux. A look inside the front office at Cave Paper in Tucson, surrounded by hand-dyed sheets and tactile samples during my visit with Zoë.

If you are looking for exceptional, high-quality handmade paper, I couldn't recommend Cave Paper more. Most of their sheets are crafted from Belgian Flax fiber, alongside a curated selection of Abaca papers. The raw fiber is rinsed and beaten in an antique 25-lb Valley Beater, and every single sheet is formed by hand using traditional European-style moulds and deckles. Pressed and loft-dried in spurs, the resulting paper is remarkably strong and rich in texture, and they are deeply committed to sustainable practices.

© 2026 Louise Levergneux. Freshly dyed indigo with white flax sheets air-drying outdoors at Cave Paper, framed by the iconic Tucson saguaro.

I ended up purchasing several sheets in various colors to craft the soft covers for the three different books in Eudaimonia. What an inspiring morning!

© 2026 Louise Levergneux. Comparing printed test swatches against the rich, deckle-edged indigo and natural flax sheets collected from Cave Paper to see how form and color dialogue together.

Joining the Conversation & What’s Next

Finding the exact balance between structural stability and tactile warmth is an ongoing experiment in the studio. When you work with physical media, do you usually recognize right away when a material fits, or do you find yourself testing endlessly until the dialogue between form and concept settles? I’d love to hear how you handle material choices in your own work—feel free to leave a comment.

Next month, I’ll be folding and assembling the prototype using the Red River Matte and these new Cave Paper soft covers. I'm eager to see if the structure will stand on its own to reveal those hidden color blocks, or if it will be back to the drawing board. Look out for the next update in your inbox!

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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Artists' Books and an Apostrophe

I would like to share my first blog post since June 2023. If you followed my monthly updates in the past, I apologize for the silence. The past two and a half years have been challenging, and reaching out wasn’t my priority. Despite my grief, I kept creating because art has always been my life's compass, and I needed to hold onto something tangible.

During this time, I completed my artist book Pistolero, which I mentioned in my 2023 posts, and published two more: Paradigm Shift and Owning My Process. I began working on Owning My Process at the end of 2022 with help from the late Cherry Jeffs and discussions with Amandine Nabarra. I plan to share them on my website soon.

While editing the text for Owning My Process, I found myself explaining and defending the term “artists’ books” over and over. After research and reflection on the art genre, I decided to remain consistent with the movement’s spelling, writing “artists’ book(s)” with an apostrophe at the end and ignoring AI suggestions that it was a spelling error.

The debate over the apostrophe has persisted since the 1960s, reflecting the medium's resistance to traditional definitions. This controversy emerged as a shift from luxurious livres d'artistes to affordable, mass-produced books.

Artists like Ed Ruscha (Twentysix Gasoline Stations, 1963) and Dieter Roth (Daily Mirror Book, 1961) pioneered the new art form using the book format, raising questions about terminology and spelling. The debate on the spelling centered on whether to use 'artists' books' (plural possessive), the singular “Artist’s book,” or "artist book” without an apostrophe, with "artist” as an adjective.

By the late 1960s and early 1970s, as institutions began collecting these works — such as an exhibition at Moore College of Art in 1973 — “artists’ books” became the term for this genre, even as debates continued.

In Stefan Klima’s 1998 survey, "Artists' Books: A Critical Survey of the Literature," he noted that inconsistent spelling reflects both the medium's ambiguity and its artistic potential. Some, like Clive Phillpot, distinguished “artists’ books” from “bookworks,” emphasizing the conceptual nature over craft.

Most collections recognize the importance of a policy requiring staff to use the apostrophe consistently. Those who have acquired my books spell it with an apostrophe at the end, supporting the genre’s recognition.

I have always used the term “artists’ books” and will continue to use it to acknowledge my work in this genre. Though after my research, I am considering dropping the apostrophe in favor of “artist book” or “bookwork” when referring to individual works. It’s not a typo; it's my policy.

© 2026 Louise Levergneux. Featuring the title on the cover of my new artist book, Owning My Process: Reflections on Making Artists’ Books.

What Makes An Artists' Book

When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot, hang on and swing!
—Leo Buscaglia

© 2022 Louise Levergneux. Oceano Beach, Oceano, California. Partly the Inspiration for my new book.

Many decisions on the elements that communicate the idea behind the artists' book had to be made last month. This is the fun Ideate stage where all the aspects that are part of the book need to be studied carefully. Being a bit obsessive-compulsive helps with the details!

How do you start establishing the correct elements (images, text, color, structure…) together to bring forward the idea for your artists’ book?

What method do you practice as you explore and select the elements?

What questions enter your mind to verify each of the elements?

These are some of the questions that I ask myself as I start the design, page layout, and choose text if necessary for any artists’ books.

© 2023 Louise Levergneux. Matching colors a unified look throughout the book. Top two swatches show the colors from the original source photos of different sands. The bottom images come from the same photos but shown after color matching — the process of replicating the hue (the basic color), saturation (the color intensity), and brightness (the lightness or darkness) of the original color.

Deliberating about colors (manipulate color to tell a story), layout, design, and text has been a joy as I relish in the world of Pantone and HEX color codes. I haven’t had so much fun in a while. Colors are an essential component since it sets the tone for the idea.

Another element I play with frequently during the development of the book is fonts. The fonts demand attention to properly present the mood of the concept. I have been trying out these fonts for a playful but readable text.

© 2023 Louise Levergneux. Sample fonts explored while working on the layout and text.

When the elements of the whole work or fit together well, lots of times the rest falls into place and I can start reflecting and planning the layout in more details.

At that moment the brainstorming has been accomplished and most of the images have been chosen and organized. But still, I go through my photo folders to examine, analyze, and make sure there are no other solutions for the visual and written narrative. I recognize the sequence of the images and text to convey to the reader a clear understanding of the book.

I might also do more research to eliminate all other possibilities that will enhance the idea. I’m close to implementing and producing my book by printing, cutting, folding, and assembling all the pages — this will start tomorrow! I’m looking forward to feeling and evaluating my first prototype.

© 2022 Louise Levergneux. Oceano Beach, Oceano, California. Sand and reading fanfiction stories while on holiday were the inpiration for Incognito.

I will be away from my work table till mid-September but will keep in touch with what is happening with the completion of Incognito! Let’s go! ¡Vamos! Allons-y !