One of my recent papermaking ventures was making Alabama Kozo Paper. It's a process I've never attempted alone, and certainly not something I should have accelerated into an exhausting three-day venture, but I did manage to get 80 okay sheets out of the endeavor.
Stripping the fiber is itself a challenging process; I spent about eight hours with soggy hands trying to get as much chiri from my kozo fiber as possible. I ended up with some "dirty" kozo, so obviously I wasn't as meticulous as I could have been, but by the time I decided to stop, I had cuts and blisters on both hands. I think my wounds are testament enough to my valiant efforts.
Every other step of the papermaking process is just as time-intensive as stripping the fiber. After a 45 minute cook, I spent about three hours hand beating my fiber, and one that was finished, the actual papermaking took two days.
I'll be attempting to make shifu, a paper yarn, from my finished sheets and create some sculptural knits. It will require a lot of starch, my trusty drop spindle, and a willingness to make some mistakes. It'll be okay as long as I can get just enough yarn for the project I'm planning.
Showing posts with label papermaking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label papermaking. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Papermaking Spree
These next few months are all about making paper by hand; since the end of January I've been pulling sheets like a madwoman, and it's only just beginning. I've got books to print, and before that can happen, I've got to have the paper on which I will be printing.
Of course, it would be easier to buy the paper for my books (imagine, no endless hours of cutting linen and cotton thrift store finds into 1" squares, no more soggy galoshes and dripping felts) but making paper by hand allows me that much more control over the outcome of my book. I begin with raw(ish) materials: linen sundresses amassed from multiple trips to local thrift stores, plants gathered from local sources, and sometimes even hand-pigmented wool roving. What happens in the papermill, the cooking, pulping, and recombining materials until they form sheets, is an almost alchemical process. The finished sheets tell the story of how I prepared my pulp, how I practiced my shake, and how I monitored the drying process. It's a story that a machine-made sheet of bugra or biblio cannot tell. However perfect those sheets are, their story is climate-controlled, digitally monitored, and lacks the pulpy hands and sloshing that come with doing it yourself.
Of course, it would be easier to buy the paper for my books (imagine, no endless hours of cutting linen and cotton thrift store finds into 1" squares, no more soggy galoshes and dripping felts) but making paper by hand allows me that much more control over the outcome of my book. I begin with raw(ish) materials: linen sundresses amassed from multiple trips to local thrift stores, plants gathered from local sources, and sometimes even hand-pigmented wool roving. What happens in the papermill, the cooking, pulping, and recombining materials until they form sheets, is an almost alchemical process. The finished sheets tell the story of how I prepared my pulp, how I practiced my shake, and how I monitored the drying process. It's a story that a machine-made sheet of bugra or biblio cannot tell. However perfect those sheets are, their story is climate-controlled, digitally monitored, and lacks the pulpy hands and sloshing that come with doing it yourself.
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