Bookbinding, but not exactly what I meant...

I know I promised this post several days ago and that I've been desperately slow about getting to it.  Forgive, forgive!  It's finals week and I've been up to my ears in a crazy bookbinding project for class.  I thought I'd be talking about paper and technique and the value of such a skill but I have something better to talk about instead.  Tonight was my bookbinding final, which in the world of art classes, consists of a pizza party and impromptu showcase.  I got to display my entire semesters worth of work for my professor, along with my fellow students.  There were some amazing things. 
But the highlight of the night was the look on my professor, Mark's, face.  He was flabbergasted.  Literally speechless.  And I was thrilled.  And though I know I sound like I'm bragging, it's not pride I'm feeling.  If I could pick a mentor, I'd pick Mark.  He gets me.  He didn't tell me like everyone else that I was crazy for spending upwards of sixty hours handwriting, illuminating, and gold leafing a manuscript style poetry anthology.  In fact he understood completely why I'd undertaken such a huge task. And he was pleased.  He knows the satisfaction of working with your hands.  He felt the resonance of a job undertaken and well done.  So, while my back is killing me, I think I have carpal tunnel, and I am mentally exhausted and emotionally drained, it was entirely worth it.  I poured everything I had into something good and I did it well.  There is no better feeling than that.  Not one.  In fact, I think I may do it again.  Later.  After I've slept for...who knows, just wake me in time for Christmas.  Real post on bookbinding to come at a later date.