A Parisian Adventure
[cont’d]
With that self-admonishment, I began methodically looking at the books by the door, many I had left behind at the Pompidou and were engineered by the artists who were present tonight. Despite his lack of English, Thibaut was helpful creating a pile of recommended pop-up books. What stood out were those published by Helium. Jacques later told me the publisher had struck out on her own, leaving behind a notable children’s book company. She may have been present that night, but I never got to meet her.
I had only made it five steps to the antiquarian bookcase when Pat Lecoq began chatting me up. He was the graphic artist who worked on, Waouh! 100 livres animés collectors…, the catalog from Thierry’s Paris exhibition of pop-up books. Pat’s enthusiasm for the genre matched mine. As we stood there, he introduced me to Jean-Charles Trebbi, author of The Art of Pop-ups: The Magical World of Three-Dimensional Books. It is always a pleasure to see the face behind the emails. Jean-Charles had requested that my Popuplady logo and a photo of me in my library be included in his book on the Kubašta page. He remains enthusiastic about the book, initially published in French, now English, and soon Spanish. I think these translations point to the European interest in pop-up books. Only the French edition has a movable in its cover.
As I strained to hold back my eagerness to hit the tables, (Yes, this is like addictive gambling.) Jacques suggested Harold and I see the building, especially the exhibition grotto downstairs. He was proud of the fact that he had been able to purchase the three story building a few years ago, allowing him to control his costs, vacate his flea-market booth in Les Puces St. Ouen, have a large gallery from which to show and sell books, a space to mount exhibitions, and, the piece de resistance, live upstairs.
I blinded myself to the long lines of enthusiasts waiting for the paper engineers to sign their books as Jacques escorted us down a narrow short flight of steps. The sloping stone ceiling undulated above us. The space was bright with lights reflecting off the glass cases. On the walls hung the artwork of Blexbolex (Bernard Granger), a French comics artist and illustrator. Some of his work had movables in them. The space was perfect for exhibits.
Trying to keep an orderly sequence in visiting the paper engineers, my first artist was Paul Rouillac, who was holding his book, Masques. In it he artistically reanimated masks of indigenous peoples housed in Paris’ Musée du quai Branly. Handsome, in that very French way, he spoke some English. On the free endpaper, he drew a masked raccoon and inscribed the book to me. Paul’s book “Gargoyles” was sold out. See? The early bird does get the worm.
