Teaching my sons the magic of papermaking

This past weekend, I taught my 12 (😱) year old and 8 (soon to be nine 🥹) sons how to hand make paper as I was going through the process myself, gearing up for my slow shop additions.

Seeing as how my previous post was LAST MAY, I figured this would be a great topic for my blog! So, kick back in your chair (or wherever you are reading this) and let me take you on a magical journey where paper comes to life.

Sunbathing Paper

My favorite delicate showcases of my final eraser carvings begin as forgotten paper. Papers that has been rescued from packages, old mail, and in the end: the recycle bin. I shred it, soak it, and whirl it into a soft cloud of pulp in a thrifted blender that has retired from smoothie duty and now lives a far more interesting life: blending my paper and happily chugging along.

The pulp is poured into warm water (mostly for the sake of my always-cold fingers), where the fibers drift and swirl like tiny boats in a quiet harbor. I dip my handcrafted mould and deckle into the basin and lift slowly. As the water slips away, the fibers gather together and begin deciding what kind of paper they want to become.

Each fragile sheet is flipped onto satin cloth and gently pressed with sponges to relieve it of the water it no longer needs. Then the sheets, cradled on the satin, are carefully lifted to the window.

Still resting against their cloth, they are pressed flat against the glass and sponged once more. Bubbles are coaxed away. Tiny wrinkles are smoothed. Each sheet is inspected like a small map of weather written in fiber. When everything looks right, the cloth is peeled away and the paper remains behind, clinging to the window.

There it rests for hours, quietly sunbathing by day or moonbathing by night.

When the fibers have fully settled into themselves, the sheet is gently coaxed free and becomes what it was meant to be all along: a new piece of paper, made slowly by hand, awaiting its final personality to be imprinted upon it.