Here is another artist scroll from my series on Cape Ann, Massachusetts. The scroll is printed on white silk and measures 8 X 85 inches.

Bill Travis, “Fall Day, Cape Ann” (scroll #40), panel 1, photo on silk, 8 X 85 in. (whole scroll), 2009

Bill Travis, “Fall Day, Cape Ann” (scroll #40), panel 2, photo on silk, 8 X 85 in. (whole scroll), 2009

Bill Travis, “Fall Day, Cape Ann” (scroll #40), panel 3, photo on silk, 8 X 85 in. (whole scroll), 2009

Bill Travis, “Fall Day, Cape Ann” (scroll #40), panel 5, photo on silk, 8 X 85 in. (whole scroll), 2009

Bill Travis, “Fall Day, Cape Ann” (scroll #40), panel 6, photo on silk, 8 X 85 in. (whole scroll), 2009

Here are images from an artist scroll I made in 2009, based on a drive from Cape Ann, Massachusetts, to New York City. The scroll is on white silk and measures 10 X 79 inches. I call the work “Voyage,” rather than trip, to convey a sense of mystery and adventure. 

I like photographing from a moving vehicle (as long as I’m a passenger). The perspective distortions, blur, and other imperfections heighten the visual appeal and give a sense of the passage of time.

Bill Travis, “Voyage, II” (scroll 33), panel 1, photo on silk, 10 X 79 in. (whole scroll), 2009

Bill Travis, “Voyage, II” (scroll 33), panel 2, photo on silk, 10 X 79 in. (whole scroll), 2009

Bill Travis, “Voyage, II” (scroll 33), panel 4, photo on silk, 10 X 79 in. (whole scroll), 2009

Bill Travis, “Voyage, II” (scroll 33), panel 5, photo on silk, 10 X 79 in. (whole scroll), 2009

Bill Travis, “Voyage, II” (scroll 33), panel 6, photo on silk, 10 X 79 in. (whole scroll), 2009

I never liked William Blake. In grade school we had to memorize his famous poem, “Tyger! Tyger! burning bright/ In the forests of the night,” and though the textbook explained that we should admire it, I didn’t see why. Years later, as a student of art history, I learned about his painting, with its highly linear style and exaggerated proportions, which made me like him less. And a visit to the Blake room at the Tate Gallery in London clinched it: even the room smelled.

Bill Travis, “Cliffs of Moher” (scroll #4), panel 1, photos on white silk, 9 X 56 in. (whole scroll), 2009

But Blake can grow on you and now I see things I’d been blind to before: the visionary quality, the intensity and originality of his art, the struggle with society and its hypocrisy. Here indeed was a “glorious luminary,” but what I most thank him for was his invention of the artist book (i.e., a type of book made by an artist that is a unique edition or has a very low print run).

Bill Travis, “Cape Ann: Dunes” (scroll #17), panel 1, photos on white silk, 8 X 104 in. (whole scroll), 2009

In the two centuries since Blake took this momentous step, many artists have tackled this supremely intimate art form and for the past generation, especially, the form has expanded into ever new ground. As I reflect on the contemporary artist book, I am astonished by a boundless imagination and ingenuity. What if we were living in a golden age and no one knew?

Bill Travis, “Cape Ann: Dunes” (scroll #17), panel 2, photos on white silk, 8 X 104 in. (whole scroll), 2009

With the silk scrolls reproduced here, I feel I’m part of a larger inquiry where artists are asking what a book is. Let me explain my own approach. There is no text in my scrolls. The images alone tell the story. I’m making books without words. And I’m reverting to a form—the book as scroll—that went out of circulation in Western society almost two thousand years ago.

The scroll allows me to do things with photos that take them in interesting directions. If you look at pictures hanging on a wall, for instance, you’re usually viewing images that, due to their frames, the spacing on the wall, and the like, are visually separate, even if they’re related thematically. But something else happens in a scroll.

Bill Travis, “Cape Ann: Dunes” (scroll #17), panel 3, photos on white silk, 8 X 104 in. (whole scroll), 2009

Because the sequence is preordained, you see only those images that actually appear next to each other (no flipping from page one to page twenty-five, as in a traditional book); yet the specific order in which you see the pictures varies (from left to right, or right to left, or in the middle, at the beginning, or the end). You can see one image at a time or three or four and a half, and as there are no words, there is also no direction. Once you open the scroll, you tell your own story.

Bill Travis, “Cape Ann: Dunes” (scroll #17), panel 4, photos on white silk, 8 X 104 in. (whole scroll), 2009

Suggesting this type of visual complexity is difficult on a flat computer screen. Maybe one day we’ll be able to roll out computers like a Torah or a Chinese scroll, but until then I can only show details in book-like form. To imagine the originals, think of the scrolls as objects you can pick up and hold.

Bill Travis, “Cape Ann: Dunes” (scroll #17), panel 5, photos on white silk, 8 X 104 in. (whole scroll), 2009

It’s possible to make scrolls using very fine types of paper, but paper creases, so I find it’s generally better to use fabric. Most of my scrolls are on silk and this choice has a further consequence, as silk makes for a more delicate, less defined, and thus more ethereal image.

Bill Travis, “Cape Ann: Dunes” (scroll #17), panel 6, photos on white silk, 8 X 104 in. (whole scroll), 2009

It’s best to see my scrolls one person at a time. You need to use both hands. I like the intimacy involved in all of this and, in that sense, the form is a natural extension of the type of image I seek to create. The two scrolls reproduced here are Cliffs of Moher (in part) and Cape Ann: Dunes (in its entirety). I’ll be showing more scrolls in future posts.