Prayer

Last week, my San Jose State students started printing on our new Vandercook (we're calling her Hermes). The same day of the first student to use the press, I also had students from the Mills College Book Arts Program visit my studio to learn about papermaking.

Also on that same day: the United States dropped its largest non-nuclear bomb on Afghanistan.

I tried to say something like this that day, but it came out garbled: papermaking and printmaking have a long legacy of being part of resistance movements. It was not lost to me that on the same day a bomb was dropped, I introduced these processes to a new generation. I can only hope that by continued teaching of this craft, this legacy, and the fight therein, will continue.

This isn't just a blog post; it's a prayer.

More autonomy

The autonomous drying experiments continue. (Previously here and here). Just documented this new set, although I'm still sorting through the photos - there are more works than I'm posting here. Click on the images for a larger view.

In other news - the Rhinoceros Project continues! And check out this interview with yours truly on Art Talks Again. As an avid podcast junky, it's so thrilling!

Autonomous Progression

My autonomous drying experiments continue - here's a few shots of the progression of one piece, not exactly from start to finish, but it gives an idea of the dramatic changes that happen as the piece dries.

Many of the artists at SVP who see me working on these are completely surprised at how they end up, so I wanted to show that yes, they do start out flat. It's the fiber that warps them into their form. The finished pieces really should be viewed in the round; they look like completely different pieces from one side to another.

I'll be sharing this process, and other sculptural paper techniques in my upcoming class in January!

In other news, the Rhinoceros Project continues!

Autonomous Drying Experiments

During my residency at the School of Visual Philosophy, I've been experimenting with paper sculpture. For the past year, I've been examining my personal studio practice, and how I plan and plan and plan and then execute said plan, and then feel a certain exhaustion. And again and again I remember the idea, listen to the process. Which is a bit scary for me; unpredictability and always a struggle for time creates an environment that encourages planning and discourages experimentation and risk taking.

This came to a head for me, privately, when I was mentoring a student who was trying to do the same thing: plan out her project in its entirety from the start, because she's juggling work and school and has very little time. And, while I understand this, I was counseling her to remember to take a step back, to observe and question. Then I realized how little I do that myself.

As a installation, print and book artist, some planning and project management is necessary. Yet I realize that I wasn't doing much experimentation, that I wasn't discovering the unexpected. I was checking things off a list.

So when this opportunity was offered to me, I pushed myself to step outside of my comfort zone, and try things in which results were not guaranteed. I started with small tests like these, and, building on the tests I discussed here, I pulled out some reeds I had left over from this project to build some armature tests.

Again, it was scary, I didn't know what to expect. I'm not sure what these mean in the greater vision of typically narrative-driven work, and if the question of having one's vision adapt and grow is even scarier than the original risk.

As for what I've determined so far: all of these armatures started out relatively flat, the shapes they formed is just from the flax warping as it dried. I'm starting to notice patterns of what causes it to warp a certain way, but nothing reliable yet. I'm also still working on how I can integrate this technique into my greater body of work, and how can differentiate myself from the amazing Peter Gentenaar.

However, if you're interested in trying some of this yourself, and learning a few other things, join me for this workshop in 2017 in San Jose!

Click on the images for larger views.

Papermaking again in Half Moon Bay

A few weekends ago, I returned to Half Moon Bay again for a workshop at Judy's space. (See previous years here and here). This time we did Japanese Style Papermaking. Above, you can see the participants trying out beating the fiber (with my lovely hammer from Andrea!)

Above, John and Robert practice the nagashizuki shake, while Nicky looks on. Nicky took some great photos and video from the day, check them out on Instagram here.

After lunch, I talked about inclusions, and people went wild. Below is Nicky's, and I love how he manages to make something feel calligraphic, even with thread.

Despite being exhausted from the workshop, and installing a show the day before (images to come), I had heard from Judy about the humpback whales that were feeding at Miramar, and didn't want to pass up the chance to see them close up - or, as close as you can get from shore. They were tricky to photograph, but mind-blowing to see. There were also several hundred pelicans.

I'm given to understand that due to the changes caused by global warming, whales are venturing closer and closer to shore to find food sources, so there was a tinge of sadness in seeing this pod. However, at the same time, it was a magical end to the day.

Upcoming Papermaking Workshops - San Jose and Half Moon Bay for July!

Japanese Style Papermaking
Kitsune Arts Studio
415 Kelly Avenue, Half Moon Bay, CA
Sunday, July 17, 10 AM - 4 PM
Cost: $80
For more information, or to register for the class, please email me here.


Japanese-Style Papermaking
School of Visual Philosophy
425 Auzerais Ave. San Jose, CA
Saturday, July 23, 10 AM - 4 PM
Cost: $85, plus $15 for materials.
For more information, or to register for this class, please visit here.

In these workshops, students will be introduced to the process of making Japanese paper. Japanese paper, often incorrectly referred to as rice paper, is known for its great strength while appearing delicate and gossamer-thin. Students will learn the basics of preparing their own fiber, hand beating, and forming sheets in the traditional nagashizuki method. Students will take home wet sheets to dry at home with instructions. Please note – this technique involves a lot of water, and students will get wet. Please wear shoes and clothing that can get wet. Participants should also bring a roll of paper towels to carry this wet sheets home on.

The Weekend Paper

The title of this post is a nod to Helen Hiebert's Sunday Paper posts, which are of course a nod to printed newspaper traditions. With the closing of my school year and two solo shows and some fall projects coming up (stay tuned!), I've been metaphorically juggling and spinning plates and walking a tightrope all at once, so, as usual, this post is a bit belated.

The first weekend of June was the opening at E.M. Wolfman for Sub Set, a collective of papermakers Rebecca Redman, Hope Amico, Alyssa Casey, and Elizabeth Boyne.

Sub Set has been working collaboratively, getting together as a group and trading materials and unfinished projects, exchanging them between as a collective "what if?" On the night of the opening, I recall asking one of the artists who made one of the pieces, and the answer was that someone made the paper and then another person drew on it and then another person....etc. To be more clear, authorship of the show was a collaborative whole.

Which gave the show an incredible energy. The artists are exploring the concept of workmanship of risk, the only limitations are the materials they had in front of them at the time. As someone who collaborates frequently myself, I can see how these experiments are opening these artists up and building a momentum for future possibilities.

The artists will be running a fundraising campaign later this year to raise money to purchase a Hollander beater - stayed tuned to their website to find out how you can contribute.

The following day was one of the ProArts Open Studios weekends, and I swung by Julia Goodman's to see some of her new large cast paper works in person.

(That's the floor in the bottom right corner of the photo above; these pieces are about five feet tall).

These pieces are rugged and topographical; she allows snippets of the bed sheets and clothing she uses to appear as reminders of her origin material. All her colors are from the clothing she uses, no added pigment or dyes.

Some of them, particularly her smaller pieces like this one, are almost a cross between pulp painting and casting.

I couldn't help thinking how Julia references the origins of her materials. They feel intimately connected to the earth, via the plants that grew her fibers, the soil that nourished the plants. Recently I've been told that the Bay Area has an enormous amount of waste clothing choking our landfills, with the additions of nylon and other petroleum-based fibers into our wearables, they aren't breaking down like they will if they were solely natural materials. Julia's work interrupts this cycle, turning waste fiber into art.

Some of her beet papyrus pieces were also on display:

Reflecting on these two exhibitions, first and foremost, I'm excited by the directions my papermaking community is exploring. Further, I was also struck by how much of what my fellow papermakers do is informed by community and collaboration (Sub Set, Julia's work with Creative Explored), and how coming together with others is such a catalytic force in this medium. The same fibers that make up paper also bring papermakers, new ideas, and new energies together.

Dipped versus Wrapped

In papermaking, there is a type of paper sculpture that uses "overbeaten" abaca. This term, which some say should really mean that the fiber is beaten "just enough," refers to the fibers spending a long time in the beater, sometimes as long as 6-8 hours. This long beating allows the fibers to absorb a great deal of water, and when draped over an armature made of wire or reeds, the fibers shrink dramatically. I swoon over sculptures like this. Papermakers like Rhiannon, Megan, and Helen are amazing at using this technique their work.

Despite assisting Rhiannon when she has taught this technique, I haven't explored it that much in my own work. I've been more a cast paper person myself. Rhiannon usually has students start by making small armatures to use, before working up to something larger. During one of our workshops, she mentioned when she started exploring this technique that she made a whole series of little forms to see what high-shrinkage abaca could do. I decided to try this myself.

Two techniques for working with armatures and high shrinkage abaca are dipping and wrapping. When dipping, an armature is made, then dipped in the vat and fiber is allowed to collect over the structure. When formation aid is added to the vat, the paper sculptor can dip multiple times to build up more fiber.

Wraping requires a papermaker to pull sheets first, then press them. The pressing gives the handmade paper almost a "wet-noodle" quality, so it's easily handled while draping over an armature. Wire and reeds will give different affects, and there is a whole variety of gauges and reeds to select from that will also vary the end result.

I decided to make pairs of similar forms to try both dipping and wrapping, and see which I liked better. I wasn't too exacting, so there are some differences in the forms, but they were close enough for my purposes. The armatures are made from 24 gauge wire from Dick Blick. I chose that wire because I had it around, and after seeing the results, I think they might have been more interesting with something finer.

I also realized that I failed to photograph these with something for scale. The pieces below are all around the size of the palm of my hand, so not that big. For the four photos below, the wrapping is on the left, and the dipped is on the right. For the fifth, my tired brain confused this order, so the wrapped is on the right. Click on the images to see them larger.

A few I dipped and immediately didn't like the results, so just ended up wrapping them, like these:

While playing with the wire, I ended up coming up with this form, which after the experiments above I chose to wrap. I'm not sure what I think of it right now, or even if it's a finished piece or a study for something larger, not sure.

These forms were inspired in part by Nami Yamamoto and Allison Smith. The cut paper projects linked seem to me about how the act of isolating an object transforms it into a specimen, a representative, or a fetish object. Yet, it's out of context. So much of my work is always about site, location, hereness, considering the opposite direction is raising some interesting questions that I find myself thinking about.

Banff Recollections

I've been enjoying my holiday break, catching up on some studio projects and starting a few new ones. The piece above is an in-process shot of the center panel of a print triptych I'm working on, based on my experience at Banff for the Dard Hunter Conference. The final piece will be a series of reduction linoleum blocks on handmade paper with pulp paint - the blue in the image above is actually a pulp paint stencil.

As the print progresses, I find myself remembering not only the mountains there, but the studios as well, and the integration between inside and outside as an artist's space.

All the studios at Banff either have skylights or large windows that look out towards the mountains. Even the studios for individual artists. It was so bright that the view from the windows in this pictures is overexposed, but the mountains are there.

The print shop is divided into multiple rooms. Below, the screen print area:

The screen print area is part of a long room that also houses the etching area, divided by some enclosed rooms for screen exposure and for acid. Along one side are windows that bring the light and mountains in.

I loved this guide to their ink colors:

A door in the etching area leads to the litho room:

Passing through the litho room leads to letterpress:

Next to letterpress is a clean room that can serve as a bindery or print curating space, which I neglected to photograph. Off of that room is the digital printshop - please excuse the slight blurriness.

The paper studio is in the basement. Radha Pandey was doing an Islamic papermaking demo during the tour, I'll dedicate a post to that soon.

The beater room.

The studio building is built into the side of the mountain. In the paper studio, there is still one wall of windows, but on the other side of the room, the mountain literally comes into the studio.

Raw fibers, half stuff, linters, and odds and ends on the wall of the paper studio:

The print and paper studios are coordinated by Wendy Tokaryk, whose work I was fortunate to see while in Banff.

This is just the studios I saw. The entire three days was so full of energy and revelation, it would be too long a post, so I will have to share the rest in other posts.