To whom it may concern,

This will be the last book-and-painting that I leave at the library. I hope that you have found this to be more of a wonder and surprise than an annoyance, but I know this is part of the risk, leaving art in a public space.

At the very worst, you will have to rid yourself of 29 books (one is in the hands of a a seven-year-old, who discovered it on the shelf a day after I left it). I'm planning to keep the final one.

I was inspired by you, the Library-- such a wonderful space, so well-used by all ages. I was grateful to those anonymous folks who put such great books on the recommended reading shelf, grateful for the air conditioning on hot summer days, grateful for the wireless access. And then, one day, it hit me: you can take out books, you can take out music and DVDs-- why not paintings?

I guess the idea evolved from there. This gave me the opportunity to collect old books, which I love. It gave me permission to browse at stoop sales and the Strand and at the thrift store at the end of my street. And over the course of the year, I finished the paintings and drilled holes in the books , and it all came together. I hope you have found a few of them and maybe even taken them home ("you" being staff people and shelvers and librarians alike). And if not, well, I just want to thank you.

I leave this one as a small invitation for you to collect artists' books (ie, ask local artists to donate artist books to the library). For give my presumption-- I just see so many unused shelves in the young adult section. Anyway, peace and many thanks to you,

... to pause and reflect. Figures it takes jury duty to plant me in one spot for more than a moment. I give myself too little credit: for two afternoons, while on vacation, I worked on an application for space in which to hold an exhibition of the next incarnation of the book project. I have some tantalizing remains:

-all of the bits of paper, cut (edges grimy and burned) and bundled from each of the books. They start to gain this miniature preciousness, and I like what they allude to (even if they are simply a reminder to me, of the afternoons spent huddling out in the driveway with my dremel tool, trying to cut those pages, plagued by my allergies, burn and old book smells clouding my nostrils-- some people have an illusion that art involves all these moments of transcendence, and certainly there are those, though few and far between, so many days are spent chained to crazy ideas and inclinations that simply require putting in the time)

-the book that I chose to keep (how I love breaking my own insignificant rules)

-the documentation of books left behind (I really do wonder how many will be buried in landfills and how many may have quietly made their way to private collections-- I'll be content with either, it's just a fascinating thought)

-fingers-crossed, a couple or few of the books, loaned back, by finders who contacted me (one of the neatest pieces of the subway show involved the precious few paintings, loaned back: paintings that had cycled through the transportation system and arrived at new destinations and were loaned back for one last gathering before being dispersed again)

I've also started four paintings based on paintings that I left in books in the library. How very meta. If you trace it all back, these will be paintings of paintings in books made on rubbings of paintings cut from one individual painting that covered another painting... this brings layering and iteration to an entirely new level.

So, I'm stealing an hour or so in a coffee shop, having left my last large drop of books in the library. I feel the project winding down. Today, I made my ritual pilgrimage of old drop sites, and I couldn't find any books-- as I mentioned on my site, the re-shelvers at the library are quite diligent! The lack of physical evidence of the project and the increasing reliance on documentation and memory are all part of this process. I didn't have to think much about where to place the books today. My awareness of their former lives dictated the locations today, from young adult to history to fantasy literature.

I still want to write about the process of making these books, about the evolution of the paintings themselves, of my compulsion-- despite being a painter with a relatively traditional studio practice- - to make marks beyond the walls of the studio.

My project was written up in a woman's blog this week-- I'll have to link to it. She summarized the secretive and whimsical nature of the work much better than I could... (Thunder is finally rolling through, and I see rain pouring down outside the window of the coffee shop-- I may be here with my thoughts longer than expected). A librarian contacted me this week-- she has two of the books, having rescued them from one of the shelvers who was about ready to throw them away. That is part of the risk of this project-- who knows, perhaps the vast majority of installations have passed on to different worlds. Hopefully, they aren't populating landfills, but what a new image of buried treasure! Still I now know that three books have safe homes, and I do so hope to regather them for a show- - along with the documentation and the individual bundles of pages cut from each book. I've also started a few paintings, so "Against Oblivion" is certainly an ongoing work.

Mentioning "Against Oblivion" reminds me of one more thing-- I'd like to write about words and juxtapositions and the way that texts have inspired or informed the pieces.

So, having set a future agenda, I now sign off...

I had imagined blogging a bit more, revealing some of the thoughts and changes behind the creations, giving a small window into some worlds beyond the actual installation of the books.

Instead, I'm going to write a bit about an actual installation.

I came to the library today around two o'clock. Immediately on entering the adult section, I noticed a new central display of graphic novels. Checked the shelf where I had left a book by the graphic novels last time. Gone. Walked down the aisle to the recommended summer reading. "Biographia Literaria" is still there. So is "Object Lessons" in the language section. I haven't checked the young adult section yet to see if the "New Funk Encyclopedia" is still there, but I imagine it is. I'll also visit the two rooms upstairs before the day is done. "Problems of Philosophy" belongs up there. Probably. But for now, I sit within eyesight of the American Woman's Cookbook.

Another Recommended Fiction drop (I've found so many fabulous books here, that I can't help but leave a small gift behind). I've watched people pass right by it (finally moved it from the bottom shelf, but even now, on the second shelf from the top, at eye level, no one has seemed to notice). Oh wait, a woman is noticing-- she opened the book. I think she saw the painting. I think that the existence of the painting scared her, because she moved on. Maybe the bookmark should be at the very front of the book after all... So, I've been observing for close to an hour now. I hope for the voyeuristic pleasure of watching someone else make a discovery. This used to happen quite frequently on the subway, but I've found that now, when I'm leaving the books in a stationary place, I have less anonymity because of the surrounding and the fact that people do not change as quickly. I usually don't stay.

I'd make a horrible criminal, because I'm always returning to the places where I have dropped books.

It does amaze me how people can be pouring over the recommended reading and not notice.

Open it, please. Take it off the shelf. There is a woman who discovered it. She is looking again. Take it off the shelf! If only my inclination could encourage her to do so.... no, she walks beyond it, she turns back, I hope that she will revisit it, but she is gone. So, what is it that gives a seven year old permission to discover something strange and holds a grownup back from taking the leap? Is it a sense of wonder? Or could it be that the crackling green cover of the "American Woman's Cookbook" is just not that interesting? Could it be that the painting seems dull? Could it be that the subtlety and humor is lost to the audience?

The librarian is clearing shelves, shuffling books, something has to happen now. No, he doesn't seem to see it. Ironically enough, he would have found it on the bottom shelf, where I first left the book... Librarian found book. Where did it go? It's no longer in his hands-- ah yes, he's tossed it up on top of the shelves, probably to throw away. I truly hope that I have not annoyed any librarians or shelvers during this project. In fact, I have this vision of a librarian or librarians holding onto a private collection. But this is part of the piece. Letting go. Hoping. Wondering what unintended consequences might happen from placing a painting in a public space. He's opening the cookbook. He's walking down the aisle. He'll probably see the bookmark.

The future of the book (and the experience of discovery) is completely beyond my control.