It's funny how with an atlas, larger than any regular book or novel, content still manages to spill outside the corners of each page. The impression of the limitless space marks you; the lines become blurred from the traditional boundary of the page. I like how the pages of an atlas are so large, that it can't rest on your lap, and must have an entire surface dedicated to holding it open.
Containing a bird's eye view of many places on over-sized pieces of paper, the viewers are invited to dive in and admire the lines, words and colors of the maps from a point of reference that is communal and invites shared interaction. When an atlas is pulled out these days, the stories occur orally in the space above the page, between the people viewing it. From a friend's birthplace in Sumatra, to past travels in Java, to an Indonesian chicken soup recipe, the atlas presses itself into our physical space through the subjects on the page, the overwhelming format, and the dialogue that sparks in the room around it.