How do you move in a project?
How do you move in a life?

Untitled is a book that was discovered, not planned; explored, not navigated; allowed, not designed. With Taylor’s thoughtful and supportive hands, we birthed the book that was already growing, that I already needed to make, but didn’t know I did until after we finished. Allowing a form, I have learned, is the act of noticing what’s present, listening to what emerges, and following what’s already there. 

The book requests a procession. Wrapped in red fabric, it is unfolded, unfolded, unfolded, unfolded; the fabric smoothed; the veil holder is retrieved; the volume is placed, and laid open; the sleeve cover’s thicker outer leaves opened, opened, its two inner layers unraveled, unraveled. Two diaphanous veils are lifted, lifted, then nestled onto the page, allowing the writer to enter into the space of the book.

Exiting is done in reverse: a lifting, a lifting, a settling; a layering, a layering, a covering, a covering; a closing; a holding, a placing, a placing; then, a folding, a folding, a folding, and a folding.

The book is the book it already is.