These are not books, lumps of lifeless paper, but minds alive on the shelves.
My new hobby is perusing used bookstores for books to use in making art.
To be clear, this means ripping the book apart and torturing its pages with jabs and dabs of foreign objects, smears and smatterings of glues and concoctions—and sometimes, iron-hot heat.
Some call it art.
Well, that’s the goal—to make art. It’s usually considered a creative and fun endeavor.
However, it puts me into a conundrum.