Carlos
Guerreiro
DOCUMENTARY PHOTOGRAPHY
Here each book has it's time, where time doesn't exist.
The whole world goes through this exiguous lost Babel at Bairro Alto inhabited by the secrets of two extinguishing arts, while the technological vertigo and the literary consumption erosion are resisted by the hand's and knowledge of Carlos Guerreiro – bookbinder and gold engraver - one of the last portuguese bookbinding masters, the only one in Lisbon to combine the two crafts.
Here, each book has its time, and according to Carlos: “time doesn’t count...”. Many days can pass before a book is finished, depending on the complexity of the work between hands.
These artisan and patient hands, which linger in precise paced rituals, between rigor and instinct apprehended in a worker’s lifetime: from dismantling a book page by page, to manually sewing the booklets; from paring the leathers which clothe of dignity the once faded covers, to the precise and mechanical subtlety of movements, when applying the homemade flour glue, movements that must be taught in “slow motion” and under the watchful eye of careful teachers.
Through iron and fire, fine gold flourished ornaments are tattooed on the leather skins, with the help of the handmade stove, the craftman’s burned fingers and water steam to check the engraving wheels temperature, or the type holders and movable bronze types, which return authorship and titles to the book spines, concluding another unique volume that promises to transcend time and perpetuate the written word.
In this old workshop, packed to the ceiling with vocables and memories, so full of books and loose pages, of parchments and skins with sharp scents, sparse notes and treasured photographs of forgotten childhoods, cold beers are shared in between words, revealing a life story carved by adversity, determination and the love of books.
The conciliation of the two crafts, which at 65 still inspire Carlos and in which he intends to work beyond retirement, came from a family misfortune that stunned him during childhood, handing him over to Padre António de Oliveira Institute, a former correctional house in Caxias, that sheltered young man from broke family contexts: boys with no future nor guilt, abandoned to chance, in an institution that aimed to transform them into craftsmen.
Forced to an hasty growth into manhood, Carlos chooses to thrive among iron, gold and fire with the engraving master Vasco da Cruz, and, between pages, leather and presses, at the care of bookbinding master Diogo de Noronha, resident teacher at the institute, who Carlos recalls with reverent friendship: “An exceptional man! A great teacher, a great bookbinder and a good friend to all of us”.
At 18, he was invited to work at Torre do Tombo National Archives where, for two decades, he expanded his technical knowledge and his book passion: “I’ve seen almost the entire book estate of Torre do Tombo… I saw books with 200 years old or more, made with ancestral techniques! Those were fabulous things!”.
He was also responsible for the restoration of important treasures of the Portuguese book heritage, among which: one of the volumes of the “Bíblia dos Jerónimos”, the codex “Livro dos Copos”, ordered by the King João II to Álvaro Dias de Frielas, two books from “Leitura Nova” ordered by the King Manuel I in 1504, and a leather box, which he executed to preserve the Letter of Pêro Vaz de Caminha.
At the age of 22, Carlos rented an old bookbinding establishment in Bairro Alto, which he restored from scratch, taking advantage of the remaining machines, handcrafting most of the needed furniture and tools. In 1998, he decides to leave the National Archives and work exclusively in his workshop, until today.
And here, in this exiguous Babel, where time doesn’t count and gestures linger and resist, a whole world goes by: these resilient hands have created leather briefcases to store official documents for Queen Elizabeth II of England, as many others for Prince Albert of Monaco, leather desk folders for the National Assembly of Angola, honour books for the Portuguese Presidency and Parliament, restoration and bookbinding work for the Gulbenkian Foundation and other cultural institutions. Artists, private collectors, book sellers, cultural institutes coming from all corners of the world search Carlos for his artistry.
The reputation of his mastership precedes him and crosses borders, spread by word, by those who recognize the unique perfection and increasing rarity of his work.
When asked about the books he most likes to create, his eyes shine without hesitation as he answers: “my own books, the ones I create for myself and I never know how they will look like, they depend on my state of mind…. Those are the books I always keep to myself”.
The love of books extends far beyond the passion for bookbiding or book engraving, and, for the bookbinder, proverbial wisdom confirms the rule in which a book can’t be judged by its cover: “It would be like trying to understand a woman through a photograph, it no makes sense…", Carlos confides.
It’s the book´s soul and the poetry it kepts that marvel Carlos, a confessed admirer of António Aleixo and José Régio´s poems, who also let’s himself dream with Brazilian poetry, often present in songs he loves to ear.
But he doesn’t confine to poetry reading. This bookbinder borned in Benguela writes poetry since a young boy and compiles his verses and rhymes in books which he bounds and engraves. Rhymes and verses he shares amid smoke halos, from that indolent cigarette that lingers at his mouth corner. Among these, he also shares other authoral secrets, such as his recipes for homemade gindungo or his famous bifanas, which lead many friends to visit Carlos workshop, for often delicious Saturday’s lunches.
A compulsive reader, always thirsty for knowledge, he could read three different books at the same time and whenever a book captivated his attention, between bookbinding and restoration, he immediately wrote down the title and author, so he could later find it in some used bookstores, which he often visits, always taking little money, “because otherwise, I would get lost…”.
In Carlos' workshop, books are masters and lords, objects worthy of time and respect. He refuses to re-store first editions or to defraud old originals, he says: “I don't commit genocides! My respect for books doesn't allow me ... ”. His books are always the exceptions - unique and unrepeatable specimens - that his ruling dictates: “I never make two books alike, for anyone”.
Craftworks knowledge fades through technological advancement: secular traditions try to endure in a context of increasing automation, while reading habits dilute in the virtual ether, celebrating the immediate and not leaving much time for the professions that need it:
“40 years ago, there was a lot of bookbinding work in Bairro Alto, there were many workshops and printing offices, but everything has collapsed… unfortunately there is less and less investment in certain crafts and professions, which will vanish”, says Carlos, aware that his profession is an endangered species and that his books are luxury items, acquired by an elite that still can purshase time and collect books as objects of art and knowledge.
If once bookbinders were the poor relatives in the graphic arts, the “papa-massa”, whose work was devalued on the benefit of engravers and offset technicians, today the craft is far from enrich the craftsman. Professions that linger tend to bring no wealth, and these two crafts take too much time beyond the investment and years needed to make a good craftsman or workshop: “to set up all that is, all these tools and machines cost a lot of money, it takes a long time… people think twice, you know? Am I going to invest hundreds and hundreds of euros to only see them in 40 years? This is not a profession to get rich, much less quickly…”.
Regarding the time it takes to teach a bookbinder, the one who learned from the best tells us: “These are precision crafts, which need careful monitoring, correcting gestures, learning body posture, finding the right balance, to develop composing sensibility and craft knowledge... it takes a long time ... a person who has natural skills, if well accompanied by a good master, takes about 3 years to teach, on a full time basis ”. However, gold engraving is a more demanding art, which requires more training time: “with engraving, learning is much more complex. That’s why there are more binders than gold engravers”.
For Carlos, the only way to preserve the two endangered crafts, would be through public investment with the help of "private patrons that support the teaching and conservation of this knowledge". For the craftsman, "art and culture are not for profit, nor should be".
In the absence of public investment or private patronage, we are left with these artisan hands that resist, and secular secrets which persist - in this place where time doesn´t matter and an entire world goes by.
