Articulating the magic behind I Make Books, London-based bookbinder Piotr Jarosz explains, “Craft for me, is everything that happens between the raw ingredient and the finished object. It’s the language of your hands. It’s becoming fluent in certain materials, being able to handle and communicate with them, and in effect, refine and elevate them to their full potential.”
At a time when so much of our life exists in the digital domain, Piotr has staked his livelihood in a resolutely analogue world. His bindings and boxes are designed to last for decades, or centuries, if looked after properly. “Handmade objects just feel and look better. They force us to interact differently with them – they invite us to handle them more consciously.”
Born in Poland, he grew up ‘obsessed’ with Lego. His fascination with construction; the act of making, dismantling and rebuilding, pointed him in a certain direction and he remembers how, “From a very young age I knew I wanted to do something that had functional application, which was why I decided to study Materials Engineering at university. But in reality, the academic environment was stifling, rigid and uninspiring. I didn’t want to sacrifice my creativity for a comfortable position in an office in front of the computer, so I never completed those studies.”
Instead, he moved to the UK, worked in hospitality, travelled widely, and eventually applied for a BA in Book Arts and Design at the London College of Communication. “The course consisted of hands-on printing techniques like screen-printing, lino and letterpress, but the thing I was mostly drawn to was bookbinding, because its problem-solving logic felt closest to engineering. I’d spend most of the time in the workshop, playing with the materials, creating bizarre prototypes of books and boxes. Most of them were failed attempts, but that was all part of the fun.”
Persistence paid off. Armed with a portfolio of samples, he walked unannounced into London’s Wyvern Bindery. “They initially turned me away, then called the next day asking if I’d help out for a few days with a big project. That four days turned into six months until they finally hired me as a full-time member.” He stayed for seven years, learning to master every element of the trade.
Bookbinding is a quiet discipline with centuries of tradition, and Piotr respects that heritage. Spines align and stitches remain invisible. Leathers, papers and foils follow conventions finely tuned over generations. “In my professional practice I abide by the rules. My aim is to create something that will last the longest without compromising the quality.” His speciality lies in the art of box-making. These custom-made cases cradle an artist’s life’s work, a family’s archive, or deeply personal relics. Essentially, they are containers for memory. He reflects on how, “Some projects touch on very intimate aspects of people’s lives. Loss, grief, intimate writing.” At first, he found such encounters awkward, but over time, he’s learned to hold space for those conversations with clients, allowing vulnerability on both sides. “Isn’t that what art should do?”
He speaks with enthusiasm about Dutch bookbinder Cor Aerssens. Smiling, he said, “He’s sometimes called the anarchist of bookbinders. There’s something liberatingly punk about his approach to box-making.” With an openness to experimentation that resists neat categorisation, as either art or craft, that same spirit runs through Jarosz’s own practice.
Although bookbinding is a niche profession, Piotr finds camaraderie wherever he travels. “Whenever I go to another city I reach out and ask to visit other bookbinder’s studios. People are always happy to have me there.” And while some might assume it’s a dwindling craft, the trade is actually experiencing renewed interest. Institutions like the Society of Bookbinders are opening up to new voices – Piotr was invited to present at their 2024 conference. He thrives on the contrast of solitude at the workbench, contrasted by moments of connection with others who share his passion with folded corners and perfect spines.
Piotr is critical of disposable design. “We live in a world where fast fashion and fast design have become such a big part of our lives. We’re becoming more and more disconnected from well-made or purposefully made objects.” Handmade items, he insists, demand a different type of interaction. “They feel better, they look better and they force us to engage with them.” He recalls the Japanese tea ceremony, where before sipping, the cup is turned to admire the craftsmanship, showing respect to its maker. “This gives me goosebumps. I wish we could all implement more routines like this in our lives.”
For him, living with fewer, better things is a matter not only of aesthetics but of ethics. Disposable culture, he argues, is a false economy. His own wardrobe follows similar logic. He favours durable pieces over transient trends. Uniforms are his comfortable place. Laughing, he says, “When you come to my studio, there is usually techno playing. And it's not an old man in a waistcoat – it's a young man in sports shorts and an unironed t-shirt. I like to play with that image. I like to confront what I should be and challenge people's expectations.”
When asked about a book that stays with him, Piotr doesn’t hesitate. “I read it every year. It’s called Too Loud a Solitude by the Czech writer Bohumil Hrabal,” he says. The novel follows protagonist Hanta, a man tasked with destroying books in a recycling plant, who secretly saves rare and banned books. “The opening line is, ‘For 35 years now I’ve been working in wastepaper and this is my love story.’ I hope that if I ever have a memoir I will be able to open it with, ‘For 35 years now, I’ve been working with books and this is my love story.’ Just another 25 years to go!”
Piotr wears the TOAST Cotton Window Pane Check Shirt, Long Sleeve Crew Neck Tee and Cotton Wool Herringbone Wide Leg Trousers.
Words by Leanne Cloudsdale.
Photography by Billy Barraclough.
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