by Nina Katchadourian:
By organizing books into clusters so that the titles can be read in sequence, I construct phrases, stories, poems. Sometimes people refer to it as “spine poetry.”
I’m always looking for ways to put the physicality of the books front and center. There is, for me, an absolutely elemental importance to engage the books as physical objects: to consider height, width, heft, color, typeface, texture, gloss, damage, dust jacket. These things communicate in different ways than language can, and to me they are as big as part of how the images are “read” as the words on the spines or covers.
“There is something wonderful about the feel of grass beneath bare feet — a freedom, a freshness, an at-one-with-nature effect — that must be weighed against the danger of placing a bare foot on the ball and then swinging a hard mallet to it. Of course you can only place your foot on your ball to “send” the other, now-adjacent ball to some other location. It is, of course, strategically very helpful to send an opponent’s ball to an awkward location. The ball is temporarily in a real fix and unable to hinder you as you progress to the next wicket. My older sister always had a way of curling her toes right around the ball like a sloth, and as a child she was always able to whack away without injury, or so it seemed (she did everything so well, and so competitively, that to this day I carry in my wallet a score sheet of the one time I managed somehow to beat her in the word game called Boggle).
You can, of course, go through life with a battered big toe, as it is usually the opposite foot from the direction you are swinging the mallet that gets used. If you have had a few drinks, whihc for some in backyard croquet is almost de rigueur, your toes can become even more violable… but the grass feels so good. It’s not a decision to be made lightly.”