Marginal Notes 20: Richard Griffin, bookbinder and publisher
Richard Griffin (18.10.1933–23.10 1991) was a man of many parts—he was a book designer, book publisher, bookbinder, magazine editor and publisher, art and music lover, and an enthusiastic skier. He was once, to his great indignation, described as ‘a fey Irishman’. He was a dear friend.
It has been said that designers can rarely bind and binders cannot often design. Richard had the unusual ability to do both. Using the most basic of equipment and his own imagination, he developed a distinct style of binding that, although often primitive in execution, showed a verve and a style that were to become his trademark. In 1986, his first exhibition of bindings was held at Hordern House in Sydney, with all the items being sold on opening night.
After a second major illness in November 1990, Richard was told that he had a very short time to live, and a hospice was suggested on his discharge from hospital. However, under the influence of strong pain killing medication, Richard had begun to feel an overwhelming urge to experiment with his binding skills using semi-precious and precious stone, and with the enormous help of some very dedicated friends, he returned to his flat and started work again. Anne McCormick and Derek McDonnell, of Hordern House, offered a second exhibition of his bindings, if he could manage to do 15 examples. In March 1991 the exhibition opened with 30 of Richard’s bindings and it was once again a great success. In an ABC radio interview at the time, Richard said, in essence, that it was only through illness that he discovered his talent for bookbinding, and that he would rather have a shorter life with the joy of bookbinding than never to have experienced such pleasure.
My twenty-year friendship with Richard was the closest thing to a roller coaster ride that I will ever experience; the anecdotes about him abound and if they were about anyone else a high proportion could be claimed to be apocryphal—when about Richard they will all be true! Each of his friends and colleagues quite rightly thought that they had the definitive story of a 'disaster' or 'triumph' in his life—experience has shown that for every one of my many tales someone else can at least equal if not better it.
