Monday, June 8, 2015
preliminary notes about Nexus Press and its not yet written history
Notes in Lieu of a Review: “Endless Road: A Look at Nexus Press” at the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center
The facts I chose not to spend time researching while writing this exploration have now been provided by Cathy Fox in this review: http://www.artsatl.com/2015/06/nexus-press/
The history of Nexus Press needs to be brushed against the grain, as Walter Benjamin said of interpreting history in general. But first we need to know that there is a history, and “Endless Road: A Look at Nexus Press,” at the Atlanta Contemporary Art Center through July 25, gives us a good start in that direction.
When and how Nexus Press started in the 1970s is a fascinating story, but not really one we need to know in order to understand what it became. The exhibition that curator Daniel Fuller has wrested from the archives presents some of the presses themselves, pieces of technology from which it should be impossible to create the kind of books that the people who ran the press produced from them—and I am not going to name those people here, because my memory is faulty and I simply haven’t the time to assign credit where credit is due. The fact that Jo Anne Paschall could almost certainly recount the history in a few lapidary sentences gives me hope that someone will correct my lapse; that is the beauty of online writing.
What it is more important to do is to assess the legacy left by this remarkable enterprise, and that is a task left implicit by an exhibition that is admittedly no more than a start. It doesn’t even comprise a complete inventory of Nexus Press publications, although it certainly covers more than just the highlights. Rare books are presented in page-turning videos (not an oxymoron, they’re videos of the books being displayed to the viewer, page by page). The other volumes are available for perusal without benefit of white gloves, just as they were originally made available and as many of them still are—a number of titles appear in stacks of books available for purchase in the exhibition shop.
These books were always experimental and sometimes sumptuous, but they were distinctly examples of the contemporary category of artist’s books rather than the rarefied collectibles called “livres d’artiste.” Even when they did not derive from the tradition of cheap multiples from which the artist’s book tradition derived, they were not intended to be precious objects, no matter how intricately lovely some of them were and are.
Now they need to be looked at as examples for the twenty-first century. Some of them were unknowing forerunners of a conversation between photography and fiction, or documentary photography and the subjective narrator—Bill Burke’s I Want to Take Picture and Mine Fields established a genre of their own, while some of Clifton Meador’s books (later ones that are apparently being held in abeyance for some hypothetical Part Two of the Nexus Press story) seem in retrospect to have been in dialogue with W. G. Sebald’s contemporaneous novels with anomalous photographs.
Nobody has tried to analyze where these books were situated in the global context into which they were inserted. It was not necessary to wait for the five books produced for the 1996 Cultural Olympiad (of which the box of cards by Frederic Bruly Bouabré remains a particular favorite) for Nexus Press to welcome the world. (“Atlanta welcomes the world” was a popular Olympic-year slogan.) It had already welcomed the world, and the world had welcomed it, even if most locals remained blissfully unaware of the dialogue.
The press published titles by globally known artists from Felipe Ehrenberg to Johanna Drucker, plus such widely recognized early ventures as a justly celebrated tribute to P. H. Polk. It also produced an extraordinary quantity of ambitious small projects (termed “tailgaters” because they were printed on what would otherwise have been leftover scraps when the books were trimmed) by its interns, some of whom have become famous in their own right and others of whom seem to have disappeared from the historical record. This exhibition restores them to public recognition.
When Nexus Press came along, Atlanta already had a tradition of small literary presses, most of them short-lived but soon succeeded by others. They were, however, producing conventional chapbooks and/or consciously old-school letterpress combinations of text and visual art. The wealth of visual experimentation that Nexus Press brought to bear has never been equaled in Atlanta, and since its premature disappearance a bit over a decade ago, no one has quite had the resources to bring its example into the fully-fledged digital era. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that its legacy is being carried on in a different key by Dust-to-Digital, whose rescued vintage recordings have typically been accompanied by innovatively designed books and packaging that recall Nexus Press in its finest moments.