Rush to the Rhees, because Keith Smith is good at sharing. The Rochester artist has spent more than 40 years developing handheld platforms to convey his experiences in the more than 260 (and counting) artist books he has created. The U of R Library is hosting a retrospective of his work, which is sure to expand viewers' impression of what a book entails, while offering a visual and poetic glimpse into decades of Smith's griefs, philosophies, and explorations.

Ironically, Smith didn't relish books as a student. Though a visual person by nature, according to the artist statement provided at the show, he found the "single picture format" of most art limiting, and "reluctantly" found the books to be the venue best suited to his interests and voice. Initially shy about the use of words in his image-based volumes, Smith began using numbers as titles, but eventually began to incorporate poetry and story.

Smith likes that books are "intimate" dialogues between artist and reader, and points out that "even if the book is mass produced, it remains a one-to-one experience." Unfortunately, the audience of this show is allowed only an abridged version of this intimacy; for obvious preservation reasons, the books are behind glass. Though the volumes lay closed or open for the long term to one page, in many cases a print of one or many of the pages is matted and hung above the corresponding book.

We're most fortunate when Smith chose an accordion fold format, and so the entire length of the work is stretched out and revealed to us. One such piece is Book No. 114, "Swimmer," which was printed at the Visual Studies Workshop in 1986. I first saw this book in one of the texts on technique that Smith wrote, which I read in high school when I began my flirtation with artist books. At the show, I again viewed the spare line drawings of a nude man gracefully tumbling over the fold-out pages, accompanying a contemplative poem by Smith, and felt a bit giddy with the rush of recognition.

Another familiar piece, from that same textbook, is Book No. 107, "Out of sight" (VSW 1985). The book-length poem is uniquely printed on staggered pages, so that the words and lines of the poem change as the pages are turned.

Book No. 97 (Untitled, 1984) is similar in that "readers" themselves alter the book through their interaction. For this piece, Smith worked backward, by creating the pages after the book was finished and bound in leather. The title card explains that he likes "gambling that [he] might destroy the book while [he is] ‘imaging' it," and that he drew his "influence [from] Francis Bacon, who painted with dyes on raw canvas, not oil paint, which left no room for mistakes." Smith daringly sliced into each page with an X-acto knife to create a volume of layered, geometric, lacelike patterns, which cast shadows, he explains, that "are as important as the paper image - but come into existence only during the act of turning the page. Viewing the book creates the image."

Smith's books often combine traditional methods and materials of bookbinding, including Coptic stitched bindings and marbled paper, with contemporary ingredients like digitally altered photographs. The creation of each book takes hundreds of hours; a few even required a thousand hours each, which is easy to believe when observing his flawless craftsmanship. The books range from hand-held, journal-like confessionals, to lighthearted pieces focused on technical aspects of bookmaking, to highly conceptual and collaborated pages cascading down the wall.

One example of Smith's collaborative endeavors is Book No. 258, "Ivary in Italy" (prototype, Jan 2008). A poster-sized print of all 36 images from the book is hung above the prototype, illustrating the artists' digital know-how. One photo-portrait of muse and art partner Ivary is placed in many scenes, and Ivary's one expression proves to be versatile, as it seems to take on a different meaning to fit each context.

I was itching to open and leaf through Book No. 226, "SEParated-DECemated 1970" (2004-2005), which a title card labeled as "digital text and pictures describing four months on the brink of suicide." But the secrets within remain defiantly private, as the book is closed and under glass. In a literal sense, Smith has laid that period of his life to rest. The cover is riddled with patterned stitching that crisscrosses and pierces the intense stare of the cover portrait, creating a sort of cage.

Another personal tome, Book No. 221, "Redhead" (Sept 2003), reveals stress born of absurdity in an anecdote from Smith's youth, which is exposed in a blaring confessional of gigantic letters across a fold-out book.

Do not overlook the inconspicuous display atop the card catalog in the corner. Seven pages stand there, upon each one is printed the instructions for a "conceptual book [...] each existing as a written paragraph." No. 67 is a recipe book that transforms into a speedy seven-course meal for the busy person. Book No. 84 alludes to the work of a famous sculptor and displays Smith's capacity for morbid humor. I won't give the joke away, but readers at the show will understand why he titled it "My Final Book."

With his impressive range of subject matter and style, Keith Smith has proven himself to be a master of his field. And from the look of the prototype books, he's got more to share. 

Keith Smith: "Pages as Stages"

Through September 15

Rush Rhees Library

Rare Books & Special Collections, Room 225

University of Rochester River Campus

Monday-Friday 9 a.m.-5 p.m.

275-4477, library.rocheser.edu/rbk