For an object that is quite inanimate, books are intrinsic to humanity and breathe a human quality. As books become older, more exposed to this world, they become imperfect, like us. They weather abuse, sometimes out of love, sometimes out of disregard. Their leather skin becomes aged with spots, rips, scars, and wrinkles. Their cloth attire becomes stained and dusty as their spines become weak. If not cared for, they can come apart at the seams under abundant amounts of stress. When they stand together, they are stabilized. If left to stand alone for long periods of time they become vulnerable. Within the physical body of a book lives a story, a soul - the words that record what it is to be human.
We are all imperfect. We also require care and consideration. Each time I sit at my bench and devote time to mending broken, neglected, or loved to death objects, I think on the things I may neglect or have broken outside of my studio and hope to uncover ways I can mend them as well.