3D Modelling & Bookbinding

Dearest Reader,

(tl;dr – download blender)

It is often I find myself combining the rather obverse subjects of bookbinding and computing, often with ill-advised effects. I haven’t had much time to blog recently, so I thought I’d just show the obscure uses that (perhaps) 3D modelling can bring to bookbinding.

Some time last summer I bought myself a copy of the Eikon Basilike, the ‘King’s Book’, an early impression of the reflections of the unfortunate royal martyr King Charles I, printed while it was still a banned book either in the year of his execution or some time in the following decade. The book is in poor condition, several of the final pages are missing as well as some half-a-dozen leaves from the middle. It is however, still bound in the original 17th century leather and full of contemporary Royalist annotations in the hands of a man who seems to have supported the king, and may even have been one of those noble battlefield cavaliers.

As a piece of history it is priceless; so how can computing help a time-worn volume like my little Eikon Basilike?

Well, hopefully at some point in my life I will have the funds to restore the damage that over 350 years of existence has dealt to that book, and at least consolidate its broken parts into one readable book. Until then I plan to build a book-box for it, just to stop any other books on the shelf rubbing against it as they may be moved as well as protect it against all manner of other possibilities. This is where 3D modelling came in quite handy.

I’d seen a very nice looking book-box on eBay – an early 20th century embroidery-over-card item that came in two pieces and was very reminiscent of much earlier boxes I’d seen of the same period as my book. Just one problem, my book was too tall. After quickly checking out how much a saw would cost to order, and having placed the Eikon Basilike ready in a vice, I decided there were probably less terrible ways to solve this issue.

With the bits of boards (as in cardboard for books, not wood, silly reader) that I have lying around, I decided to build me a book-box (doubtless a blog post yet to come), and, to work out the very best design, rather than sketching it as I usually would, I turned to 3D modelling. I built the book-box that I’d seen on eBay in the program, played around with the size, and even added a hinge-bit onto it that wasn’t on the original. I could view it from all angles and really get an idea of what would work and what wouldn’t. Fantastic, 3D modelling and bookbinding slammed together, and I didn’t have to saw any old books in half.

I was too lazy to add any realistic or even pretty texturing, that can come at a later date…

 

Old Saint Ed’s Cross

Tags

crucifix, edward the confessor, henry keepe, james II, westminster abbey

Visibly Distressed* Reader,

There are a few select stories from history that I find absolutely tantalising. This is often due to how unlikely it has been for an incredible situation to unfold, other times because it’s a story I’m outraged is not famed in the very name of history, and occasionally because the tale involves treasure. The story that I’m about to tell – I’m glad to say – involves all three.

We’ve all heard the name Edward the Confessor, and I won’t bore you, dear reader, with the accomplishments of that well accounted king. He began the long tradition of monarchs being buried in Westminster Abbey, and it is his tomb that this piece of history really concerns.

King Edward’s original tomb, shown in the Bayeux Tapestry.

He didn’t long remain sealed in his coffin after his death in 1066, since by 1102 the tomb had already been opened and it was claimed his body had not begun to decompose – the start of the claims by the monks of Westminster that Edward was a saint, and a common origin of many of the sainthoods of early-medieval England. He still didn’t get much peace though, since in 1163 and again in 1269 his body was moved. The final 1269 translation of his body was after he had finally been recognised by the pope as a saint, so his tomb following that was a grand shrine. It was damaged slowly by centuries of pilgrims chipping of parts of it off for keep-sakes and good luck charms, then battered by the reformation, before the roundheads set upon it during the Civil War. Overall, it’s a miracle it’s survived at all, but this at least brings us to the point in time when there began the story of Edward the Confessor’s Crucifix.

The design of the medieval shrine is a tiered structure with the coffin sat on top, far out of the reach of any visitors.  Following the Civil War, the sub-sequential interregnum, and finally the restoration, there hadn’t been much time to repair damages done by the roundheads to the ancient tombs of Westminster. Charles II, who was proclaimed king at the restoration, had little money to spare and therefore nothing much changed in that ancient abbey, and when his brother, James II, came to the throne in 1685 the old building was as battered as ever as it was dressed up for James’ coronation.

Now we come to a man called Henry Keepe, an entirely average Englishman of his day, he had a small interest in antiquity, the year was 1685, and was presently a chorister at Westminster Abbey. Henry had been taking a walk around the abbey not many days after James’ coronation and observed the workmen taking down the scaffolding, which had held up seating for the many regal guests at that event. One piece of scaffolding had been brought down accidentally on top of Edward the Confessor’s shrine, bashing into the coffin on the top tier, and Henry had heard that a hole had been made in the coffin just over where the Confessor’s upper chest should have been.

Intrigued, he brought over one of the ladders that the workmen had been using and propped it up against the shrine before ascending, where to his delight he found the hole, examined it,  and finally decided it would be a good idea to reach in and see what he could find. Pushing aside a few scattered bones with his hand, he felt something metal under his fingers.

Removing his arm from the hole, he first brought into the light a solid gold chain, and finally on the end of this appeared a cross, again of gold, covered in enamel decoration and biblical designs. The inside of the cross was hollow, surely intended to hold a relic, and examining it further the level of workmanship, the artwork, as well as numerous greek letters, all startled the curious chorister. Had Henry really just strolled into Westminster Abbey and found a huge gold crucifix worn by Edward the Confessor that had been hidden for over 600 years?

Henry passed the crucifix back through the hole into the coffin, he didn’t tell anyone what he’d found, and instead went off to try and find the Bishop of Rochester, Dean of the abbey. Being unable to find him, he talked to a member of the clergy there, showed him the cross, and was told to take it to the dean at whichever residence he could find him.

After some weeks of being unable to seek a meeting with the dean, Henry decided instead to show it to the Archbishop of York, whom by some fortune he met and showed the cross. Word then spread, first to the antiquary circles of society, and at last to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who in turn passed the news to King James II. During this time Henry employed an important artist of the time to make a perfectly accurate sketch of the cross for him to keep as record of how it looked exactly as it was found. He was then suddenly invited to the palace by the Archbishop of Canterbury, entered the king’s private chambers, and there presented the cross to the king so that it could be kept securely forever in the royal collections.

The king, a catholic, treasured the ancient relic, and often wore it at important occasions – it is recorded by several notable diarists of the time as being one of the king’s favourite possessions. That great treasure would still be one of the most remarkable pieces of ancient artwork to survive in England to this day if it was not for the events of December 1688.

James II’s regime collapsed under the travesty of justice that was the Glorious Revolution, and that good king was forced to flee London, dropping the Great Seal in the Thames and escaping on a small boat taking the Confessor’s gold cross with him. Instead of sailing to France, where the rest of his family had gone into refuge, he landed in Kent, probably hoping to summon up an army to retake his kingdom, but the Catholic monarch was disliked by his fervently Protestant subjects, and was captured by a group of fishermen in Favesham.

By the time James had been given over to the authorities the cross was gone.

Sadly, the cross has not been seen since. Henry Keepe’s drawing of the cross, likewise, has long been lost into the shadows of history, and the only thing that remains is this story. Still – one of my favourite stories from history.

I am fortune enough to own a first edition of A True and Perfect Narrative of the Strange and Unexpected Finding of the Crucifix & Gold-Chain of That Pious Prince, St. Edward The King and Confessor. From which I’ll do my best to transcribe a description of the cross for anyone truly curious of this amazing item. (It seems, most probably, that it was made in the Byzantine Empire and was a gift to Edward some time during his reign by one of the emperors or emissaries of that great place.

From the hand of Henry Keepe himself:

For the Chain, it was four and twenty Inches long, compleat, all of pure Gold, the Links oblong, and Curiously Wrought: The upper part whereof (to lye in the Nape of the Neck) was joyned together by a Locket, Composed of a large round Nobb of Gold, Massy, and in Circumference as big as a Mild-shilling, and half an Inch thick: Round this went a Wyer, and on the Wyer about half a dozen little Beads, hanging loose, and running too and again, on the same, all of pure Gold, and finely wrought. On each side of the Lockett were set two large square red Stones (supposed to be Rubies.) From each side of this Lockett, fixed in two Rings of Gold, the Chain descends, and meeting below, passes thro’ a square piece of Gold of a convenient bigness, made hollow for the same purpose; This Gold wrought into several Angles was painted with divers Colours, resembling so many Gemms or precious Stones, and to which the Crucifix was joyned, yet to be taken off (by the help of a Screw) at pleasure. For the Form of the Croß, it comes nighest to that of an Humettee flory among the Heraulds, or rathtr the Botony, yet the pieces here are not of equal length, the direct or perpendicular beam being nigh one fourth part longer then the traverse, as being four Inches to the extremities, whilst the other scarce exceeds Three: yet all of them nearly turn’d at the ends, and the Botons Enamelled with Figures thereon. The Cross it self is of the same Gold with the Chain, but then it exceeds it by its rich Enamell, having on one side the Picture of our Saviour Jesus Christ in his Passion wrought thereon, and an eye from above casting a kind of beams upon him: whilest on the reverse of the same Croß is pictured a Benedictine Monk in his habit, and on each side of him these Capital Roman Letters: on the right limb thus,

  (A)
Z A X
   A

And on the left thus,

   P
A    C
   H

This Cross is hollow, and to be opened by two little Screws towards the top, wherein it is presumed some Relique might have been conserved. The whole being a piece not only of great Antiquity, but of admirable Curiosity. And I look upon this Accident as a great part of my good Fortune, to be made a mean Instrument of their discovery and preservation.

Henry Keepe had the story of his discovery printed in 1688 to end the many misconceptions and legends that even by then had surrounded the discovery. He died before James II lost the cross, and it perhaps better that he didn’t know that fate had led it to be lost only three years after its discovery – since Henry treasured the cross and its history greatly. Henry’s story was published under a pseudonym – Charles Taylour – just in case there were those who took offence to him for poking around in the coffin of a saint. He does however, name himself in the pamphlet as a ‘very worthy Friend’ of the author.

I pray someone at least might enjoy this story, which I think is so excellent.

*If this is not accurate then you haven’t read enough of this blog.

How to Paper Restoration

Discerning Reader,

Some weeks ago now I was restoring a copy of Burnet’s Abridged Reformation of the Church of England – a first edition from 1682. The book was in its original leather boards, and had been repaired with a new spine some time in the 19th century. Sadly, the victorian spine had at some point come away from the binding and been lost, leaving only a piece of victorian backing paper hanging onto the exposed bound together page edges.

In the process of adding another replacement spine, I removed the old paper and discovered behind it a piece of original binding material – an account book page that had been used as scrap in 1682. I would be very inclined to do a rather rickety and speculative post on whether the book belonged to the original bookseller or printer and was used as scrap by a bookbinder in his shop – which would make it possibly one of the only manuscript remains of the remarkable bookseller Richard Chiswell – but that is a story for a better researched post.

For now, allow me to offer a practical guide on how to restore torn and damaged paper, as I myself go through the process of restoring this ancient remnant.

Firstly, you’ll want yourself some kind of water soluable glue. A variant of a flour and water paste works well, otherwise (and I advise you to practice on scrap paper before attempting anything important) you could try ready-made bookbinding glue such as Pinflair, or even (if you really, really, insist) use a basic PVA glue.

Secondly, you’ll want water.

Thirdly, you’ll want some Japanese tissue paper – as it is often called – there are several forms of it. It’s basically just a very thin paper with long fibres in it which allow it to mesh into papers that it is laid onto.

Also get two pots, a large and a small brush with soft bristles, two flat surfaces that your glue won’t stick to (I’m using two perspex boards), a weight (I’m using my polishing stone that I use for bookbinding), a knife, and some blotting paper.

Oh look, a rock.

To begin with, aside from being very fragile and broken in to several pieces, the paper was screwed up and folded, so it needed to be flattened.

Here’s what I started with

Flattening paper is not too difficult, firstly get one of your flat surfaces and make sure it is clean. Now, using a brush, soak both sides of the paper evenly and lay it in the surface, placing your other flat surface and a weight on top.

Some wet paper.

This’ll hold the paper flat so that it doesn’t cockle or become misshapen because of the water. After a few minutes, take the weight and surface off of the paper, put it in between two sheets of the blotting paper, replace the flat surface and the weight, and leave it. The paper can take several hours to dry even on a hot day, and it is vital to make sure it is completely dry when you remove it or it will become deformed. (It has taken me 48 hours before now to flatten a quarto-size title page.)

The paper once it had been flattened and allowed to dry.

Now to fix the bits of paper together. This will involve laying the Japanese tissue paper over the joins, and will therefore obscure any markings on the paper around the join, so pick a side of the paper that is the plainest, where the tissue paper can be laid with the least effect on the content of the page.

As in the above image, tear a small piece of tissue paper off that will cover whatever gap or tear you are repairing. Make sure that the paper has torn edges all the way around.

Now mix a little glue with some warm water, mix it until it resembles milk – white, but as runny as water.

Paste this onto one side of the tissue paper, do not soak the tissue paper or you are liable to cause damp staining if the flattening did not entirely clean the surface of the paper. If the tissue paper is fragile to pick up then it is too wet.

Now place the tissue paper wet-side down over the tear in the paper, and paste a small amount of the glue-water mixture over the top of it. Again, don’t soak it, just make sure that the tissue paper is entirely pasted down and completely damp.

To avoid the paper cockling or deforming because of the moisture, put it between the two surfaces with the weight on top. Do not put any blotting paper in there or it will stick to it. So long as the environment it’s in is warm (why I’m doing this in the summer), the paper shouldn’t take long to dry.

Repeat this on all tears until the paper is restored to a complete state.

Finished! Just a shame about the 19th century mold spots across the bottom half of the scrap.

Lord of Facebook

Dearest Reader,

Alright, so I’ve been playing around with quite a lot of different projects since the end of University – even finally had a try at Backbone.js and it’s really not that bad – but I thought I should post something here to prove this blog un-neglected.

So, allow me to privately add something here that I couldn’t put on the Chrome store because I really own none of the content copyrights, and all rights to it obviously go to the original producers. And should they take offence to it being here, I shall obviously remove it.

It’s a Chrome extension that lets you keep up to date with what’s going on in Middle-Earth these days, through the different characters’ poor Facebook communications. (Click to download)

Basically, save the above .zip file to where ever you want it, unpack it, then go to chrome://chrome/extensions/, tick the Developer Tools tick box on the top-right. Then click ‘Load unpacked extension…’ just under the extensions header, navigate to the now unpacked folder that you downloaded above, select it and press Ok. If you don’t use Chrome then go download it, I know you love Firefox, but Chrome really is better than it once was.

Now go to Facebook and see what everyone’s up to.