In June of 1997, I was desperate for a creative outlet, something to give my recently fractured life some meaning. I was taking my first bookbinding class. And I’d also started to draw various things around my house. My medicine cabinet, a shoe, a picture in a magazine, anything that struck my eye and seemed doable. The results were disappointing, the lines anxious and crabbed. The two different creative projects, drawing and bookbinding, came together when I bound some cheap copier paper...