On November 5, the day after the 44th Presidential election, newspaper subscribers opened their front doors to a newly printed piece of history. Pedestrians gazed at historic headlines in newspaper boxes, ranging from President-elect Barak Obama’s campaign slogans to civil rights themes, to a single name. The Newseum features 724 front pages from 66 countries in their online feature “Today’s Front Pages” Wednesday, November 5. If you were curious to know Oprah’s favorite…the Chicago Sun-Times front page with the headline “Mr. President”.

However, the example that took me most by surprise was not posted on the Newseum’s Web site. The headline reads “Barak Obama” in small type and “HISTORY” in large bold letters spanning a photo of Obama waving to the crowd in Chicago’s Grant Park. As the text runs off the photo, it symbolically turns from white to black. Talk about content-inspired design! This front page belongs to the Mint, a business newspaper in India launched in collaboration with The Wall Street Journal in 2007 with a circulation of about 133,000. In addition to the five print editions of the paper, an online version was created called “Livemint”. Here I found the fascinating article “The making of an Obama front page.”

According to Livemint, planning for the front page started nearly a week before Election Day and involved about a dozen different ideas. Mint art director Abel Robinson “had to work without knowing exactly what images [he] would finally get or if the page would have an ad on it (plus a backup plan if John McCain pulled off an upset).” See how the page evolved here.

There are many more stories that can be told of front pages from this historic event, each representing the people and the geographic region of the paper. For example, one Texas newspaper didn’t put Obama’s win on the front page. But most papers were selling off the racks in record numbers. The Washington Post printed an extra 350,000 copies of the special edition. And the The New York Times, with the headline “OBAMA”, is selling for a pricey $14.95.

If you didn’t save yours, The Indianapolis Star is offering its historic election edition for sale at local Kroger stores as well as a 2008 Election Souvenir Pack online, complete with a poster reprint of the November 5 front page. The Star also offers advice on how to preserve your newsworthy work of art:

• Lay the newpaper flat. Do not store with paper folded along the middle. The fold is the first place a newspaper will decay and discolor.
• Store in an acid- free paper folder available at most art and office stores.
• Keep paper away from extremes in temperature or humidity. Do not put the paper in a plastic bag for storage in an attic or basement where it will decay.
• If framing, use an acid free matte and UV-3 Plexiglas, which protect paper form most of ultraviolet rays and prevents discoloring and fading.

Believe me, writing a book is no day at the beach. From the moment you move from the what- a-good-idea-for-a-book stage to the put-your-butt-in-chair-and-crank-out-the-pages stage, creating a book is much more about grinding it out than it is about experiencing the joy of creativity. When it comes to writing a book, inspiration is highly overrated—usually by those who haven’t written one. A book is a chore.

Okay, I hear you. If it’s so bad, why do it? Because, when it’s good, it’s very, very good. There is no high (endorphin, chemically induced or otherwise) that can compete with the euphoria that comes from writing a great sentence, paragraph, or page. Writing requires discipline, but once in awhile, you get rewarded for your efforts. And it’s those moments, individually and collectively, that keep a writer coming back to the task at hand, even on those days when it would be a lot more fun to dig a ditch than sit at your desk and try to figure out how to wring one more sentence out of your weary brain. Learning to do that, however, is essential to maintaining your momentum—once you start writing a book, it’s important to keep it rolling, like Sisyphus and that damn rock.

The key to maintaining momentum is to keep your mouth shut. When you’ve been writing professionally for as long as I have—more than 20 years at this point—one thing you learn to avoid is saying too much about whatever project you’re working on. Talking about what you’re writing diminishes the drive to write: it’s important to hold on to your need to tell the story on the page rather than in conversation, even if the story you’re telling is a nonfiction account of an institution (rather than, say, a harrowing account of your years as an undercover DEA agent). A story is a story and needs to be respected, protected and told in its own good time—the more you say while you’re in the process of discovering the story and how best to tell it, the less urgent your need to sit down every day and put another piece of it on the page (or laptop screen).

But now, for me, that urgency is over. Because my latest book—the soon-to-be-available history of the IMA titled Every Way Possible—is done. Having come to the end of the project, I can truthfully say that I’m glad it’s over. And I wish that it weren’t. There’s nothing more satisfying than writing a book—except maybe reaching the end of writing one. The process that has been both a burden and a pleasure for more than 18 months is finished. I hope you enjoy the fruits of my labors—and those of my co-author Anne Robinson and the many people who helped us. We did our best to write a story that will both educate and entertain. For me, the real joy of writing a book happens when someone reads it. I hope you’ll pick up a copy of Every Way Possible—and when you’re reading it, remember that what you’re reading are the fruits of a lot of labor.

As far as I’m concerned, the hard work paid off: I’m proud to have helped develop, shape and create the first book to attempt to provide a comprehensive (though I would never claim definitive) history of the Indianapolis Museum of Art. Let’s do it again in another 125 years.

Okay, two years probably seems like plenty of time if you’ve never written an institutional history before. But the truth is, two years is barely enough time if what you’re trying to do is provide a reasonably comprehensive look at 125 years in the life of a major museum, which is what those of us involved in the Every Way Possible project were charged with doing. And by two years, what I mean is that at the end of that time, there would be printed and bound books in hand—which meant, working backwards from that point, we actually had about 16 months (one year + four months, for those of you keeping score at home) in which to research, write and edit a 300-page book (as well as find, identify and write captions for more than 100 photographs). The rest of the time was dedicated to designing the book (no easy task in itself), then getting it printed, bound and delivered.

The fact that we accomplished it is a matter of pride for all of us involved. Furthermore, the fact that, in reading it through before it went to press, I discovered that what we had done was exactly what we’d set out to do—create a lively, readable history of the IMA—heightened that pride. It was no easy task, combing through 125 years of board minutes, letters, annual reports, and other documents, as well as talking with a variety of people who’ve been part of the IMA’s more recent history, with the intention of culling from all that material the type of information and anecdotes that would make an institutional history come alive.

However, what sometimes happens in the process of writing a book is that you lose track of your original intention, having become enamored of some new concept you arrive at—often as result of spending too much time mired in minutia that you’re convinced will be as fascinating to your readers as it is to you. Usually you’re wrong. And that’s when a book veers off course and becomes ever more difficult to steer in the right direction. Much to my relief, we managed to stay on course (after losing our way a couple of times), and in the end we did what we intended to do. (Quite an admission once you realize that authors are always the last to acknowledge that their books have any value other than as compost material.)

Here’s hoping you’ll agree when Every Way Possible, a history of the IMA, arrives at The IMA Store in December.

Photo Courtesy of Lisa French

After writing or co-writing histories of the IMA, the Herron School of Art & Design, and the Indianapolis Art Center, I’ve come to appreciate the fact that the most important resource an organization needs to succeed is people. I know that’s stating the obvious, but it’s worth acknowledging. Without people committed to developing, sustaining and improving an organization (whether a multinational corporation or small not-for-profit) nothing of value will ever get done.

In my former capacity as the visual arts writer for The Indianapolis Star, I covered the IMA extensively, from articles on exhibitions and events to a large, multi-faceted package of articles on the Museum’s most recent facilities expansion. But the ones I enjoyed writing the most were the profiles I did of various IMA staff members—I can attest to the fact that the Museum attracts some of the city’s most talented, skilled and interesting people. What I discovered while researching and writing Every Way Possible, an upcoming book celebrating 125 years of IMA history, was that fact has always been true.

The Museum got its start in 1883 when a small group of people led by nationally known suffragette May Wright Sewall formed the Art Association of Indianapolis. Without Sewall’s tenacity and drive, the group might never have done more than meet occasionally to talk about art; instead, it became the driving force behind the development of the John Herron Art Institute. And that Institute was the result of a $225,000 bequest from local landlord and businessman John Herron, another interesting character in the IMA story. Not known for having a particular interest in art, he nonetheless left the bulk of his estate to the Art Association, with the stipulation that the money be used to build a museum and art school bearing his name. (His niece also became the Herron Museum’s first curator.) The Herron Museum was the precursor to today’s Indianapolis Museum of Art.

So, from the beginning, the institution that would become the IMA was a product of out-of-the-ordinary people with out-of-the-ordinary dreams. Some of the others included:

• Mary Quinn Sullivan (pictured above): An Indianapolis native who went on to study art in London and teach it in New York, Sullivan was the driving force behind the creation of The Gamboliers, a group that helped introduce modern art to the city by purchasing drawings and prints by the likes of Picasso, Matisse and Modigliani. Sullivan went on to become one of the founders of the Museum of Modern Art in New York.
• Caroline Marmon Fesler: The daughter of local industrialist and automobile manufacturer Daniel Marmon (Ray Harroun drove a Marmon car to victory in the first Indianapolis 500 race in 1911), she studied painting in Europe. Later, she became a well-known art collector, especially of 20th-century modernist works, many of which she later gave to the Herron Museum—including Grey Hills by her friend, Georgia O’Keeffe. Along with Sullivan, Fesler propelled the Herron Museum into the era of modern art.
• Herbert Krannert: Founder and president of Inland Container Corporation, Krannert agreed to take charge of the Art Association in 1960, at a point when the organization was struggling to stay afloat. Krannert insisted the group reorganize its board and its way of doing business, including creating the position of board chairman—he became the first person to have that title and he held it for 12 years. His tenure culminated in the relocation of the Museum from the Herron campus at 16th and Pennsylvania streets to its current 38th St. and Michigan Road site, and the Art Association’s name change to the Indianapolis Museum of Art. Krannert and his wife Ellnora also gave $3 million to help build the IMA’s first building at the present location—Krannert Pavilion, which opened in 1970.

That’s just a sample of the sorts of people you’ll find in the pages of Every Way Possible when it hits The IMA Store in December. I think you’ll find that spending some time in their company (and that of many others who were—or are—associated with the Museum) is inspiring.