Elio: Hi Martin. It’s funny: while your motivation comes from an early love for books, mine comes, in part, from the final reward. That moment when the boxes arrive from the printer, full of freshly produced books. Opening them, flipping through the pages, maybe showing them to someone in the studio—and then seeing them on the shelf, where they will stay for a while, in front of you. That said, that’s just the reward. There are other layers of motivation in the process itself.

Elio: Another motivation is having an idea for a book and developing it in order to present it to a publisher. It is a way of generating your own project. If you are not very deep into the editorial world, it is not easy that an editor asks you to design a book. But if you invent it yourself, it becomes easier.

In this sense, I remember something an editor told us years ago at the Frankfurt Book Fair. We went there because we liked books and wanted to design them. While talking, he said: “Publishers don’t need designers. They need authors.” With that sentence we understood that we had to change our perspective—from designers as service providers to designers as editors.

From this position, when you propose and develop your own ideas for a book, it becomes a project. It is also a means for research and for learning more about topics you are interested in, and for expanding your network. In addition, the impact of a book multiplies: it can lead to conferences, teaching, and professional commissions. In other words, the book hitting the shelf is not the end of the process; it can be the start of other processes.

Another motivation is simple: I love books—their physical side, the weight, the smell, and the touch. I like them organized on the shelf, and also a bit messy when they are out of it. The relationship is without pressure: you can pick them up, open them, close them again without anything happening. Sometimes without even intending to read them.

This comes in contrast with the digital. Most of what we read and communicate today happens on screen, where the flow is ephemeral, invisible, and can be edited or deleted at any moment. The book, in contrast, has presence and permanence. It allows a physical relationship. It has a different status. It doesn’t update, it doesn’t notify you, it doesn’t disappear.

Still in contrast with the digital, and in times of speed and automation, there is one stage of the process that can be seen as undervalued and that I personally enjoy: laying out. Placing texts and images across double spreads, page by page, feels almost artisanal.

Elio: Yes. In this two-day workshop, the idea is to share the TwoPoints.Net approach to developing publications—we are authors, editors, and designers of more than 30 books on design, architecture, and art.

On the first day, we give an overview of the editorial roadmap: from the initial intuition to the professional proposal, including contracts, managing contributors, and the final publication.

On the second day, it becomes more hands-on. Participants focus on their own book idea and work on the proposal—developing the concept and making initial mockups to show the potential of the project.

Elio: What we won’t cover in the workshop is editorial design itself—no typography, no grids, etct. As you said, we already know how to produce books. The workshop focuses on the part we often lack: being authors and editors.

In the long course, we go deeper into the full professional cycle. We look at how a book multiplies its impact—networking, conferences, or teaching—but we also go into the practical side: the relationship with the editor, numbers like royalties and contracts, and copyrights. We also cover production, from managing contributors to decisions about paper and finishes. It is about the reality of the project from start to finish.