The Boiler Maker by Akbar del Piombo/Norman Rubington

I don't remember where I bought this book, which is odd because though I never write it down, I always tend to remember. Not so in the case of this odd little book that peered out from the shelf at me this morning, Akbar del Piombo's "The Boiler Maker".

My father kept a log of all the books he owned. Where he bought them, how much he paid, if a book was given as a gift, books he borrowed or lent, and a list of books he was still searching for throughout his whole life that is in itself a rather impressive document considering my father's library consisted of over 17,000 books when he passed away.

It had always been my plan to go through my own collection and add to it to my father's logs to the best of my memory. As I scan my bookshelves (which hold about 2,000 books) I rarely draw a blank when looking at the spines and if I do, it's mostly because it's a book that Monsieur Redacteur bought before we met.

So "The Boiler Maker" was taunting me. I picked it up and looked at the cover to refresh my memory. Nothing. I didn't even realise that the book was published jointly in America through The Citadel Press and by The Olympia Press in France. There is no price on the upper right hand corner of the first blank page that so many of my books have either.

I remember why I bought it. The cover intrigued me and it wasn't expensive.

And the inside was even more intriguing.

(I searched the Internets in vain for images from Rubington's "The Boiler Maker" and because of the fragility of the spine on my copy, I couldn't scan it so here's a few images taken with a camera.)

Published in 1961, "The Boiler Maker" was written by Akbar del Piombo and the collages were made by Norman Rubington - who were the same person.

I found an obituary from The Times for Norman Rubington (which was his real name). Let me just say that despite the expense, the time, and the space it takes up in my life that it is in moments like this where my bibliophilia brings me the most delight. I knew nothing about the history behind this book when I bought it.  It sat on my shelf for nearly four years and today it's literally made my day.

Norman Rubington arrived to Paris in the 1950s to paint and became part of the expatriate scene that included William Burroughs, Alexander Trocchi, Samuel Beckett, and Richard Sever (editor of The Paris Review). Together the group worked with Maurice Giordias to edit, advise, and write for The Olympia Press.

Under the nom de plume of Akbar del Piombo, Norman Rubington wrote a number of "pornographic" books for The Olympia Press. As himself he made collages to accompany his writing that were inspired by Max Ernst's work in "Une semaine de bonte", the more famous sequel to "La femme de 100 Têtes".

her fiery smile will fall down from the hillsides
as black frost and white rust

accompanied by immaculate parasites, Santa Claus allows
himself to be controlled from afar by means of lateral appendages

Akbar and Norman's work was very popular with GIs (soldiers) visiting Paris during the 50's and 60's when his works were published. Using scenes in Arab harems and exaggerated, often extremely funny, orgy scenes, his work was characterised by much tongue-in-cheek humour and definite literary quality far beyond the demands of the publisher. There was also a strong streak of social and political satire in his work. Subjects he used included the drug scene, war, the art world, and society in general.

Picasso had already introduced the art world to the medium of collage, but it wasn't until the Surrealists adapted it for their vision(s) that it became something more. Gertrude Stein was the first to collage words in 1914 with "Tender Buttons", which paved the way for works such as Henry Miller's "Black Spring" and the works of William Burroughs like Naked Lunch and his famous Cut-Up Trilogy (you can read a post on The Third Mind here).

It's after writing this post (while listening to Lord Buckley) and looking at this slim little volume I'd ignored since its initial purchase that it dawns on me. Yesterday while I had friends over I pulled out something I had been working on intently when I decided to use the method of collage to help me with my writing. I bought a sketch book and started collecting stuff. I took pictures, printed things from the Internet, and ended up with what an artist friend of mine called "Ama's Art Brut".

The truth is collage has always inspired me. I made collages as a teenager quite a bit, using magazines and random words to express myself. My favourite artist is Henry Darger. I'd love to own his book about the Vivian Girls, but it's never been published in full.

I can't draw, but by borrowing images I can still make art - or at least that's the way I feel today because Rubington could draw (he was a very successful painter and even won the Prix de Rome) and yet obviously loved the art of collage as much as I do.

As far as inspiration goes, this little book has paid for itself. Who cares if I can't remember how it came to be a part of my life? (Okay, a little part of me still cares.)

Oh and as a massive fan of Terry Gilliam (and the Monty Pythons in general), I also want to mention that without Picasso, Ernst, and especially Rubington we wouldn't have this - also known as the best Christmas card ever.

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Elizabeth "Lee" Miller, Man Ray, and The Surrealists

Elizabeth "Lee" Miller is often called a photographer, but in reality she was so much more. Not only was she a famed war correspondant for Condé Nast's American Vogue during a time when women went to war as nurses, but she was also a Muse, innovator, and visionary.

"I keep saying to everyone, "I didn't waste a minute, all my life - I had a wonderful time," but I know, myself, now that if I had it over again I'd be even more free with my ideas, with my body, and my affections".

Lee Miller to Roland Penrose, September 9, 1947

Many of Lee' minutes were astounding ones. One minute in New York she decides to step off a sidewalk and is rescued from being hit by an oncoming car by an editor at Vogue. The next minute she's a celebrity - a top model. The next minute her career as a model is over all because of one of her photographs appearing in an ad for feminine hygiene products (Kotex).

Streichen, the photographer from whom Lee was learning the foundation for what would be her real contribution to the craft of photography - what he called "faking" -his term for using interventions such as shading, marking, and other manipulations of the negative to capture the truth.  Since she had already announced her intentions to become a photographer, Lee decided to go to photography school, but the discipline needed didn't suit her. She was a star who had a stable of lovers and wanted to go back to the life she'd seen in Paris. So Streichen offered to make up for his masculine accident by introducing Lee to Man Ray and Lee left for Europe.

Once in Paris, Lee made her way to Man Ray's studio at 31 bis rue Campagne-Première only to learn that Man Ray had left for the summer from the concierge. Upset by the news, Lee crossed the Boulevard Raspail  and sat down at the corner cafe to have a Pernod with the owner and then she met Man Ray.

"He kind of rose up through the floor at the top of the circular staircase. He looked like a bull, with an extraordinary torso and very dark eyebrows and dark hair. I told him boldly that I was his new student. He said he didn't take students, and that anyway he was leaving Paris for his holiday. I said, I know, I'm going with you - and I did".

In the twenties to be "done" by Man Ray meant you were somebody and he lived a luxurious lifestyle. He and the former "Madame Man Ray" as Kiki de Montparnasse was called by French society had split up the year before and so Man Ray was free to take his new American student who had a thing for older men to Biarritz for the summer. Before becoming "Lee Miller" she would first become the next Madame Man Ray.

And what fun she must have had. Man Ray who was the only photographer than André Breton considered a "Surrealist",was completely in love with Lee, and was living the high life of fast cars and snappy dressing. Then came the stock market crash and suddenly no one could afford to have their portrait "done" by Man Ray anymore and he sunk into depression.

Then one day Lee turned on the light and discover the process she and Man Ray (who was furious that Lee had "ruined" the negatives of Madamoiselle Solidor, but would later take credit for its discovery) would call solarization.

When Lee wanted her own studio, Man Ray helped her find one not too far away from his own. They spent their days in Man Ray's studio and their nights chez Lee. Then Lee fell in love with Aziz Eloui Bey and though she had to be discreet with Aziz because he was married, everyone in Montparnasse knew Lee had left Man Ray and Man Ray wasn't happy to have lost the women he loved. Later her and Aziz would marry.

It took many years for Lee to find her way. Her war photography is for me the pinnacle of her career as a "photographer". Instead of returning to the US and safety, she decided to photograph the war and its aftermath - images that would haunt her for the rest of her life. After the war she returned to Farley Farm and discovering she was pregnant with Roland Penrose's child, she divorced Aziz.

The rest of Lee's life was plagued with troubles. She suffered from clinical depression and post traumatic stress disorder and took to drinking heavily. During the 50's and 60's her and Roland's Farley Farm became an artistic mecca and was visited by Picasso, Man Ray, Henry Moore, and Max Ernst (to name a few). Lee gave up the studio for the kitchen and became a success gourmet cook. She died of complications due to cancer in 1977.

Her son has kept Farley Farm and the Penrose-Miller collection accessible to the public. Lee's legacy lives on. I would need more than just my fingers and toes to count the number of people I know - women, photographers, men, fashion designers, writers - who have been influenced by either her work or her life. For my part I discovered Lee Miller through my grandmother who once mentioned to me when I was working in fashion by taking pictures of details on vintage clothing to inspire the designer I was working for that there had been an "American lady who started by doing the same thing and ended up being a Muse for Cocteau named Lee Miller". Years later I remembered her name and  read Carolyn Burke's biography "On Both Sides of the Camera" - which I can't remember if I bought it or got it off a friend who has forgotten I have it and whom I have forgotten lent it. The reason why is because it was bought and stamped from Shakespeare & Co. and I would never let them stamp a book I bought there (they stamp it so you can't return it), but at the same time I wrote something in pencil on one of the pages, which I wouldn't do if I was borrowing a book...so it's a mystery.

Here's what I wrote on page 245 after the words "Lee was fearless, she had the soul of an adventurer," Charles Roux remarked fifty years later - still amazed at her (Lee's) transformation into "a reporter of a kind we no longer have." Lee wrote as she lived, inventing her own brand of first-person journalism. "The muse of artistic Paris, the beauty among beauties", Charles Roux reflected, "had become a writer"."

12h14, Ligne 2, Paris

It is impossible to say with words the deep felt joy I feel upon reading this snippet of text. Though I am not a great beauty; I am a plain thing and I haven't Lee's abundance of talent in so many things. But I have a-"mused" myself and finally after knowing so long I would get to it but never when. I have become a writer. The greatest agony of my life has ended at long last. I am glad I subconciously had the foresight to buy myself some Chanel earlier in the day as I haven't the time to do it tomorrow."

(The reader needs to know that once upon a time I celebrated my life by buying something from the Chanel on rue Cambon and then having champagne at the Ritz on Place Vendome when things were really good or simply window shopping and walking around the Place Vendome when things weren't so good.)

Buchenwald.

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