Fred Escher created five artists’ books that span two distinct periods: the austere, black-and-white conceptual work of the 1970s, and the loose, surreal, color-saturated books of the 2010s. Though stylistically divergent, both eras are marked by emotional saturation, formal play, and an enduring interest in pairs—whether of images, personas, or affections. His first book, H-I-D-I-N-G (1972), features 21 photographs in which a figure (possibly Escher himself) conceals himself in domestic and public spaces. Bound by rusty staples and printed on faded black paper with a synthetic vellum flyleaf, the book exemplifies the restraint and intimacy of early artists’ books. It withholds its title across pages, inviting slow recognition and deep looking. Decades later, after retiring from a non-art career, Escher returned to the form with renewed playfulness. Brushes and Ricky the Rat and Friends (2015) introduce a cast of surreal Freds—bound, doubled, smiling, or in peril—often juxtaposed with symbolic props like toothbrushes or rats. These books are vivid, funny, and emotionally strange. Ricky the Rat, submitted unexpectedly to a review committee, was received with enthusiasm and includes a poem in flowing Japanese cursive script (草書) on washi paper, tucked like a gift inside. Though Escher also painted, the book was his strongest medium. Sequencing, intimacy, and the materiality of the object all reinforced his signature tension between humor and melancholy. His work, like that of Yoko Ono, balances conceptual clarity with a kind of saturated sincerity—never ironic, never sentimental.