It was this that compelled me to visit South Korea in 1995, in the hope of learning more about their papermaking techniques and the historic development of the craft. During my six months there, I studied directly with two Korean crafts people, Young Dam Sunim and Jang Yong Hun, both of whom currently produce hanji, traditional Korean handmade paper.2   Anyone who has visited traditional Korean homes and Buddhist temples is aware of the extensive use of handmade paper in Korean daily life. Despite rapid modernization, many examples of windows, doors, walls, and even the traditional heated ondol floor, all covered with the supple warmth of hanji, can still be seen. Although it was adapted for a wide variety of uses, the qualities that have most often been attributed to hanji are incredible strength and longevity. These qualities give Korean paper significant potential for contemporary uses in western countries. Interest from the international papermaking community could help to ensure the continued production of this paper and the livelihood of the crafts people who produce it.   During my time in Korea I became extremely aware that much of the Asian papermaking terminology I was familiar with came from Japanese, for which we either have no equivalent word in English or find it simpler to adopt the Japanese term. I also found that many of the traditional Korean papermaking techniques were de-emphasized during the Japanese occupation, when many Japanese methods were introduced.3 Over time the Japanese techniques became part of the ongoing practices in Korea, and often no clear terms distinguish them from Korea's own traditions. But an interesting duality has developed as a result. Although Korea has struggled throughout its history to maintain a sense of national pride in its own rich cultural traditions, in the wake of the Japanese occupation, the Korean war, and the current rampant westernization, many of the Korean techniques have been lost. While many Koreans are trying to hold onto their traditions, most hand papermakers have had to minimize the amount of paper they make using traditional Korean techniques and support themselves by producing Japanese-style papers, which they export to Japan. For these reasons, I intentionally use Korean terminology or English in translation in this article even though Japanese terms might be more familiar.    There is growing evidence that paper was being produced in China during the time of Christ, probably earlier. Although there is little documentation on the migration of papermaking to Korea, there are numerous ancient Buddhist sutras produced as early as 751 C.E. that attest to Korea's highly refined skills in making paper.4 Historians credit a Korean Buddhist monk, Tam Jing Sunim (also known by the Japanese pronunciation of "Doncho"), with introducing papermaking to Japan in 610 C.E. Aside from this historic information, little has been published in English about how the craft developed and changed throughout Korea's tumultuous history.    During my first three months in Korea I studied and worked with Young Dam Sunim, an ordained Buddhist nun, at Chisön-am, her small papermaking hermitage.5 It is located in the mountains near Gapyöng, north of Seoul.    Young Dam Sunim learned traditional Korean papermaking from Hong Kwan Ha, who lived in Wonju, north of Seoul. He came from North Korea after the Korean war, and made very high quality door paper, exclusively. She studied with him intermittently for four years before becoming a Buddhist nun. She felt that Buddhism was intimately connected with traditional Korean papermaking, both historically and in the very nature of the process. During the Koryo Dynasty (918-1392 C.E.) Buddhism flourished in Korea and with it came an increasing demand for quality paper. Much of this paper was produced in Buddhist monasteries, where a high level of quality was required for the copying and printing of sutras and other texts. During the Choson period (1392-1910 C.E.) paper production began to establish itself outside the monasteries. It has now been a long time since this craft has been practiced in a Buddhist context.6 In December of 1985, three years after her ordination, Young Dam Sunim opened a small mill in Wonju, with fifteen workers. The mill operated for two years before closing due to financial difficulties. Young Dam Sunim continues to produce hanji at her present location, with most of it sold to Buddhist temples in Korea and some to foreign markets.   The last three months of my stay in Korea were highlighted by my interactions with the Jang family. Jang Yong Hun learned papermaking from his father at the age of 18 and has been producing hanji for over forty years. I was fortunate to meet his eldest son, Jang Seong Woo, who is in the third generation of papermakers in his family, demonstrating hanji at the Korean Handicrafts Museum in Seoul. The family operates a small mill in Chöngpyöng, north of Seoul, where I was privileged to spend time studying and working. Many evenings were spent with Jang Seong Woo translating my requests for his father to remember the family's history and to provide the now-unconscious details of his family's craft. There was a precious moment when I asked if they had any old journals or pictures, because I wanted so desperately to be able to supply some validation of the ancient techniques they described. Jang Yong Hun smiled jubilantly and went to retrieve a wonderful portrait of his father's face. I conveyed my delight at the photo, but kept to myself the disappointing realization that much of Korea's heritage must rely solely on oral history. Perhaps the most important thing the Jangs did for me was to confirm my suspicion that I had seen only the tip of the iceberg, and that there was still much to learn about Korea's unique role in the development of papermaking.   The grandfather, Jang Sae Kuön, began making hanji at the age of 26 in 1901. He learned from his cousin and set up his mill in his home town of Sunchang, which is south of Chönju. Before World War II, hand papermakers populated this area, due to the abundance of fresh mountain water and paper mulberry plants. Unfortunately, little if any traditional paper is being made there now. Jang Sae Kuön made three kinds of paper: changpanji, a large multi-layered floor paper made using a deckle and two people to pull the sheets; paekji, a small, single ply paper, often used for account books and prayer paper; and changhoji, a medium sized, two ply paper, used for windows and doors. These days it is rare to find papermakers, like the Jang family, dedicated to utilizing traditional techniques practiced in their family for multiple generations.    It was not until after the Japanese occupation that the family began to make paper using the front to back formation technique (called nagashi-zuki in Japanese) that was introduced from Japan. Now much of the paper that supports Jang Ji Bang is of this style, and is exported to Japan, often for use in museums. Although the demand for traditional hanji is not great, the Jangs still produce only the highest quality, which they generally sell to artists. The government has provided some support for Jang Ji Bang and six other papermakers, with research grants starting in 1996. These will continue until 2000 when a publication about the mills will be produced.   Most of the technical processes and materials for making hanji are similar to other types of Asian papermaking but some are quite unique to Korea and very important in maintaining its traditional quality. Tak namu is the Korean name for paper mulberry, the primary papermaking plant. It is said to be indigenous to Korea and has grown over much of the peninsula since ancient times. A number of varieties are identified in different sources, including Broussonetia kasinoki Sieb and Broussonetia papyrifera (L.) Vent.7   After steaming and stripping the bark, the papermakers hang it in the sun to dry for use throughout the year. They then soak and scrape the bark prior to cooking. Yukjëmul (natural plant ash alkali) is the traditional material used in cooking the fiber. Unfortunately, in most contemporary paper mills, it has been replaced by harsher cooking and bleaching chemicals, which can weaken the fiber and reduce its natural luster. I was offered a rare opportunity to accompany the Jangs into the northern provinces to gather and burn mëmiel (buckwheat stalks), the most favored traditional material for alkali in Korea. After our first attempt failed, due to an unexpected snow storm, I appreciated more than ever the amount of time and energy required to maintain this level of quality. Jang Ji Bang uses mëmiel for all of their traditional hanji production. After burning it, they combine two parts mëmiel with one part red oak ash, and strain water through this mixture to create enough alkali for two consecutive cooks. I was fascinated by Jang Seong Woo's ability to determine the strength of the alkali merely by the slippery feel of the liquid between his fingers, a skill he attributed to gyöng höm (experience and intuition). The soft luster and impressive strength of the finished paper attests to the benefit of cooking with this gentle alkali.   After the Jangs have picked the fiber clean of debris and bits of bark, it is ready for beating. For all of their highest quality paper, including hanji, they sun bleach their fiber outside in large stainless steel vats filled with cold water, a process seldom seen anymore. Traditionally, the fiber for hanji was beaten by hand. Many Korean mills now use Hollanders, with the rest generally using beaters affixed with blades (similar to the Japanese naginata). Jang Yong Hun has designed and built a motorized stamper beater that closely replicates the traditional hand beating process and he finishes the fiber separation with a naginata-type beater.   The last ingredient required before formation is a viscous formation aid called tak pul, (tak means paper mulberry and pul, glue), which they extract from the roots of the abelmosk, a plant from the Hibiscus family. Although its name suggests an adhesive, it serves to suspend the fibers in the water and slow the drainage, which is essential to the formation process. Young Dam Sunim explained that one reason hanji was so suitable for windows was its ability to breath while still being highly insulating; many modern Korean mills use a chemical formation aid, which leaves a residue that fills the pores of the paper and does not allow this beneficial exchange of air.   Hanji's uniqueness among papermaking processes lies primarily in its distinctive yöpmuljil formation technique and the absence of a deckle, or top frame, to contain the stock during formation. The term yöpmuljil refers to the dynamic side-to-side movement of the mould and the water during the process. The pal tul (pal meaning the fine bamboo screen and tul, the wooden mould that supports the screen) is approximately twice as long as it is wide, with the length extending away from the papermaker. The papermaker holds the mould at the front corners and the back edge hangs from a single wire or rope. The mould pivots from this wire, with the papermaker controlling the height by pushing it away to raise it, or letting it hang down at its lowest point, about 6" from the water. The chain lines run from the front to the back so, in the finished sheets, the grain direction of the paper (though often minimal) runs perpendicular to the chain lines rather than parallel. This can be a significant clue to determining the formation process when analyzing finished papers.    The papermaker begins the formation process with a fast dip with the front edge, casting it off the back immediately. Multiple side-to-side dips follow, the number depending on the papermaker and the proportion of fiber and formation aid to water in the vat. Without a deckle to contain the stock, there is only enough time after dipping to allow a momentary rock or change of direction before it is discharged off the opposite side. This not only keeps strings and debris from collecting, but also makes it difficult to form a thick sheet. The sheet formation generally finishes with another quick dip from front to back, although some papermakers modify or eliminate this step. Because of the formation technique, each sheet is typically slightly thicker at the papermaker's end of the screen than at the opposite end. Therefore, to create a stronger, thicker paper of uniform thickness, the papermaker rotates the pal end-to-end before couching every other sheet. The opposing sheets are then dried as one. The Korean term for this is ümyang hapji, which is derived from Buddhist philosophy and literally means "sun/moon paper". Probably as a result of this 2-ply technique, the chain lines do not run the entire length of the pal. They end in the middle and shift alignment for the other half. This prevents the chain lines from overlapping in the two sheets, avoiding a thinner area that would weaken the paper.   The amazing amount of variation I observed in the Korean sheet forming technique surprised me. Young Dam Sunim added a noticeable swirl or circular motion instead of the change in direction. This was only possible because the design of her tul also varied. The usual beveled inner edges of the side rails, where the edge of the pal rests, were replaced by an actual notched step, which allowed the pal to remain in place during the vigorous motion of the swirl. I was never able to determine if this was her own innovation or a technique passed on by her North Korean teacher, but it was unique from all the other styles I observed and may contribute to her excellent fiber distribution and the minimal grain direction evident in her finest paper.   Jang Yong Hun had the most graceful formation I have ever seen, no doubt due to over forty years of hanji production. As his son described it, he has a 1-2-3, waltz-like rhythm, with all the finesse of a talented and experienced dancer. However, when the fiber was almost gone, this transformed into a quick dip, followed by a suspended, almost floating motion as he gleaned the last remaining fiber from the vat. Few contemporary papermakers will ever achieve his speed and intuitive agility.       It requires an amazing amount of skill to couch traditional hanji because no guides are used to align even the largest pal, although the posts may contain 500 sheets. After couching, the papermakers sometimes roll a large wooden log across the back of the pal from side to side, to remove bubbles and to even the post. Although the log has been used traditionally throughout Korea, Young Dam Sunim recommended that it should only be used occasionally, while the Jangs stressed that it should never be necessary if one is couching properly.   At this point the papermakers typically drain the post over night before pressing it in a hydraulic press. Often they place a board on top, with a wide variety of objects on it to speed drainage. I was aware that this was a crucial step and I knew that excessive pressure or any bump or slip would prevent the post from parting. But never during my time in Korea did the sheets fail to separate, even when we precariously piled rocks, blocks, and bags of pulp on top. There were even times when the overnight draining was eliminated completely, and the fresh wet post was immediately subjected to the hydraulic press. I began to appreciate deeply the papermakers' ability to rely on their strong sense of gyöng höm.   The final step in the process is drying, which Korean papermakers now do primarily on steam heated stainless steel dryers. The finished hanji exhibits a distinctly Korean strength and character. As Young Dam Sunim explained, "no sheet of paper is inferior." She stressed that all sheets have their own character and function, and it is a matter of using each in the appropriate situation. This willingness to appreciate unique qualities of papers and traditions was perhaps the greatest lesson I learned from hanji, as well as from Korea itself.   It is important that the techniques and characteristics of hanji be integrated with our understanding of the development and migration of papermaking in the Far East. The future of this craft depends on the enthusiasm and dedication of current papermakers and others involved in its production and use. Although I visited many Korean paper mills, stores, and dealers, I found it hard to locate individuals who were committed to sustaining Korea's unique papermaking history and techniques. Young Dam Sunim and Jang Yong Hun are among the few. Young Dam Sunim has visions of a paper museum that would serve to educate as well as support continued production and research of Korea's paper traditions. The Jang family has generations of experience and can provide important information on the development of this craft since the early 1900s. Jang Seong Woo's work at the Korean Handicraft Museum (which only recently opened, in the fall of 1995) has incredible potential to expose an increasingly wider audience to this unique craft. I believe the international papermaking community can play an integral role in encouraging the revival and growth of Korea's unique papermaking traditions.   Notes   1. The work of Dorothy Field in this area represents some of the few sources of technical and historical information readily available in English.   2. The contemporary term for Korean handmade paper is hanji (han means Korea and ji, paper). However this is not a term used historically by Koreans themselves. The term was initiated to differentiate Korean handmade paper from machine-made and other types of paper being imported or produced by Korea in the beginning of the twentieth century. In the context of this article, I use hanji to refer only to traditional Korean style paper. [See Lee Kyung-su, "The Painter's Tools", Koreana, vol. 6, no. 3, Autumn, (Seoul, Korea, 1992).]   3. Japan's influence in Korea began as early as 1895, and the country was colonized by Japan from 1910 until the end of World War II, in 1945.   4. Lee Chong-sang, "Hanji: Sturdier than Silk or Leather", Koreana, vol. 7, no. 1, Spring, (Seoul, Korea, 1992)   5. Sunim is an honorific suffix meaning Buddhist nun or monk.   6. Lee Kyong-hee, "Buddhist Nun Makes Mulberry Paper", Korea Herald, Sept 20 (Seoul, Korea, 1991)   7. Catalog from the exhibition "Traditional Korean Paper Culture", National Folk Museum, Seoul, Korea, 1995. </div>

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