Why watermark? The 1708 New English Dictionary (Rudin, p. 213) states: "The name was probably given because the watermark, being less opaque than the rest of the paper, had the appearance of having been produced by the action of water." The Germanic languages use the equivalent of papermark, which seems more appropriate, since the mark is in the paper. The Romance languages use filigrane (French) or filigrana (Italian and Spanish), which refers to a "wire figure." This term gave rise to the word filigranology, the study of watermarks. Today the word is used interchangeably to refer to both the image one sees in a sheet of paper and to the design on the mould surface (the raised wire, the embossed screen, etc.) that creates that image. Webster's Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary (1991) defines watermark as: 1. a marking in paper resulting from differences in thickness usually produced by pressure of a projecting design in the mold…and visible when the paper is held up to the light; and 2. the design of or the metal pattern producing the marking.  Someone viewing a watermarked sheet of paper for the first time will inevitably wonder how the marking got there. Comparing a mould with a watermarked design on it to a freshly made piece of paper formed on that mould helps one understand the mystery: the sheet of paper looks embossed (or debossed, if the design was recessed in the mould). When a sheet of paper is formed, the fibers are evenly dispersed across a plain mould, creating a flat sheet. Wires or other materials sewn or adhered to the mould surface protrude into the sheet when it is formed, making it thinner in those areas. After the sheet is pressed and dried, the pattern is less evident. The sheets appear to be flat and the images are sometimes only perceptible when viewed in a certain light. Dard Hunter at one point used the term paper watermarks and defined them as "the lighter lines or markings in paper, caused by the wires on which the paper is made" (Dugal and Stone, p. 2). This reminds us that, in sheets formed on a Western laid mould, the impression of the laid wires (called laid lines) can be seen, along with the impression of the thin wire threads (called chain lines) used to sew the laid wires to the ribs. Wires sewn to the mould specifically to make watermark designs form additional, intentional markings in the paper. Papermaker's tears are a literal form of "water mark." Usually considered mistakes, these are drops of water that fall onto a freshly made sheet still on the mould. The water drops displace the fibers and form dots that can be seen in the dry sheet. Mizutama-shi, which means "drops of water paper," is a decorative paper that has been made in Japan since the eighteenth century. The drops were traditionally applied by flicking a leaf dipped in water over the still-wet sheet. Other Japanese watermarking variations abound, including lace paper (rakusui-shi), which involves spraying water onto a sheet through a stencil. Contemporary artists have experimented with various related approaches to creating thick and thin areas in a sheet of paper. They have used WaterPiks, dental syringes, and other tools to squirt water onto wet, unpressed sheets. The first known Western watermarks were made in Fabriano, Italy, in 1282. At that time, designs were twisted in wire with pliers and then sewn to the papermaking mould. These wire designs are what the French called filigrane. We might call them wire marks to distinguish them from the many other types of materials used to produce watermarks. Hand Papermaking includes a recent watermark from the renowned Fabriano Mill in its latest portfolio, Watermarks in Handmade Paper: Modern and Historic. The sheet includes six designs that illustrate the mill's technical expertise in working with wire: intricate details appear in the images, ranging from perfectly straight lines to tiny curves. These designs are sewn onto the mould with an extremely thin thread so that it leaves no sewing marks in the finished sheets. (Like chain lines, such marks are often noticeable in watermarked sheets.) Wire marks were often made in multiples with the aid of templates carved in blocks of wood. After being pressed into the grooves to create a design, the wire was sewn onto the papermaking mould. This enabled the papermaker to have the same wire mark in the same place on two moulds (two were typically used with a single deckle in paper production). This creation of watermarks in multiples causes challenges for those who pursue filigranology. Since each wire mark of a pair was produced by hand, they varied slightly. The tiny stitches that attached them to the mould varied in position. To add to the complication, these wire marks did not withstand more than two years of regular use, so they would be refabricated, creating even more variations. Other identification problems occur because the wire marks often slipped along the laid lines, stitches broke, or repairs changed the look of the watermark. In addition, watermarks were commonly copied by other mills. The dating of papers is complicated by all of these matters, and by the papers being printed on (sometimes with a date) years after the paper was made. Many watermarks include a date, but these were often left on the mould for many years. Watermarks in Asia, especially in Japan, are probably as old as Western watermarks. They were most likely developed independent of the Western tradition and the first designs were probably made from thread or grass, which suited the flexible mould surface. This makes sense, since a mark in wire would not lend itself to the nagashizuki style of couching; wire would not withstand much flexing, nor would it retain its shape. In addition, a number of other Japanese techniques yield sheets of varying thickness, which broaden the definition of watermarking.  Two artists featured in Hand Papermaking's portfolio were inspired by or utilized Japanese techniques to make their papers. In his sheets, Paul Denhoed melded two techniques, one of them similar to a wire-mark. Instead of wire, however, he used masking tape, cut to shape. The result is a raised image on the mould that makes the sheet thinner in those areas where the tape appears. Denhoed's second technique, called hikikake-gami, actually creates thicker areas within the sheet (he calls these fibremarks). These look like watermarks in the finished sheet, but they are made using a laminating process. The contrast of the two techniques is striking as one method causes his design to appear lighter in the sheet and the other makes a darker design. Although she formed her sheets on a Western mould, Kristin Kavanagh utilized Japanese fibers and techniques to make her lace paper. After forming the sheet on the mould, she placed a Mylar stencil cut in the design of a spider web on top of the wet sheet and sprayed water through the Mylar. The fibers directly beneath the stenciled web remained intact, while the other fibers were spattered with water, forming a fine pattern of dots, revealing the image of the web. This method of watermarking varies from traditional Western methods, in that the image is created by removing fiber after the sheet is formed rather than during the initial formation of the sheet. Kavanagh used a stencil to form a second sheet (with letters and numbers in a darker color), which she couched onto the lace paper. The resulting paper is thicker in the areas where the two sheets meet, although stenciling is not a true watermarking technique. In Europe towards the end of the eighteenth century, thin foil was cut into shapes, such as leaves or letters, and sewn to the mould to produce watermarked areas. These were called "full watermarks," and measures had to be taken to make sure water drained properly and gaps did not form in the sheet. Drainage holes were poked and sewing holes were probably drilled to ensure that water could escape. Early papermakers would have reveled in contemporary Seattle artist Neal Bonham's technique of using raised foam shapes, which drain evenly, although the slow drainage time of his sheet-forming process might make it impractical for production papermaking. However, the preparation of the image in foam (which Bonham sometimes "carves" using sunlight concentrated by a magnifying glass) would be quicker than the elaborate preparation of the light-and-shade relief mesh (Hand Papermaking, Summer 1994). For his contribution to the portfolio, Peter Thomas used a historic English mould that combines several watermarking techniques. The mould features full watermarks (using raised flat metalwork), wire marks, and an embossed screen. This combination of techniques creates quite an unusual sheet, with watermarked areas that appear darker and lighter. Moreover, Thomas exaggerates these effects by drying his unpressed sheets directly on the felts, which accentuates the relief, both embossed and debossed, in the dry sheet. The text can be read without illumination, but holding the sheet up to light adds an element of surprise by revealing the debossed, thinner areas and highlighting the embossed, thicker areas.  As paper currency became common, watermarking was used to prevent counterfeiting (as it still is today). William Congreve, an Englishman, spent many years in the early 1800s working on ways to prevent forgery and developed a technique in which he made papers with a colored watermarked sheet (made with a stencil design attached to the mould) sandwiched between two thin white sheets. The watermark was only discernible when held to the light. Congreve's experiments, which never led to the actual production of bank notes, made European papermakers realize that the art of watermarking need not be limited to line lettering and simple devices and emblems twisted in wire, or from flat metal applied to the surface of the mould. William H. Smith, an Englishman, invented the light-and-shade watermarking technique in the mid-1800s. Also referred to as "chiaroscuro," these watermarks allowed for the reproduction of portraits and photographic-quality images. The papermaking screen was molded in a way that some areas of the watermark rose above the surface of the mould, creating thin, light areas in the paper, and other areas fell below the surface, filling in with more pulp and creating darker areas. The pulp in between the high and low areas created areas shaded in a continuous range from light to dark.  The technique Smith used was quite involved; considerable time and technical skill was required to prepare the mould. In brief, an image was carved into a sheet of wax, creating a low-relief sculpted surface. The wax was then coated with a thin layer of powdered graphite and electrotyped to make a metal die. A woven wire cloth was annealed (softened with heat) and pressed into the die, forming the image in the wire. Finally, the mesh was hardened and sewn onto the mould in preparation for sheet formation. Three of the five historic entries in Hand Papermaking's portfolio include light-and-shade watermarks. Dard Hunter III claims that seeing this form of watermarking probably altered the course of his grandfather's life, changing his focus from graphic design to hand papermaking. In 1928, using techniques similar to Smith's, Dard Hunter Sr. carved his family's coat of arms in wax for a light-and-shade watermark. Hunter was primarily interested in mastering the fabrication of the mould covering and made few sheets of paper on his mould. Fortunately, his dies were saved (they and the original mould are now in the collection of the Robert C. Williams American Museum of Papermaking), making it possible for his son, Dard Hunter Jr., to shape a new wire mould covering years later. Dard Hunter III made the sheets in this collection, using his father's mould based on his grandfather's watermark. Rick Johnson also formed his sample on a historic mould, previously owned by mid-twentieth-century English artist and papermaker John Mason. The mould features a chiaroscuro profile portrait of Mason and a wire watermark bearing his name. It would be interesting to compare sheets made on this mould by Mason with those made by Johnson, to see how the preparation of pulp and the hand of the papermaker influenced the look of the final sheet. The third historic chiaroscuro sample is from Gangolf Ulbricht, who used a mould made one hundred years ago in Prussia. Ulbricht's sample shows off his outstanding craftsmanship. He achieves a crisp image of Frederick the Great in a wide ranging scale, through careful selection and preparation of the pulp (bleached cotton half-stuff, Spanish hemp, flax, and raw flax) and skillful, traditional Western sheet formation. The artisan who fabricated the wire mesh a century ago was equally talented. Together the two have created a remarkably clear chiaroscuro image. Kathryn and Howard Clark, of Twinrocker, and Brian Queen ambitiously made their own light-and-shade watermarks, although they chose different approaches. Kathryn Clark drew an illustration and carved the image in wax; Howard Clark then poured epoxy moulds and annealed the wire mesh to produce a light-and-shade mould surface, all by hand. Kathryn then combined her expertise at hand papermaking and linoleum block printing to make the printed image, which she appropriately tied in to the elusive quality of the watermark. If you hold the paper at just the right angle to the light, objects are illuminated that might not otherwise be seen. Brian Queen, on the other hand, was aided by current technology in creating his light-and-shade mould. The process he used to make the engraving to emboss his screen combined the efforts of computers and three-dimensional engravers rather than the human hand. Queen then used a unique method to form his relief screen surface. Rather than hand embossing or pressing the mesh between two dies, he placed the annealed screen against his engraving, with a sheet of polyethylene sheeting and raw rubber on top, and then put the stack in his press. The soft rubber forced the wire mesh into the engraving. His sheet illustrates how images created by light-and-shade watermarks differ from traditional wire marks in that the images can be both darker and lighter than the surrounding paper. With his watermark, Queen pays tribute to Dard Hunter, featuring an image of him as a young man. The Japanese technique tesuri-kako-ho produces an effect similar to light-and-shade watermarks. Developed in the late 1800s, it involves laying a freshly formed and pressed plain sheet of paper onto a woodblock engraving and burnishing the sheet into the grooves multiple times. This yields thick areas in deep sections of the block (which appear dark in the finished sheet) and thin areas in raised sections (which appear light). Lindsay Nakashima and Jocelyn Webb have recently experimented with this technique (see Hand Papermaking, Summer 1999). Creative adaptations of old ideas abound in the portfolio. Several of the artists employed various forms of adhesive-backed plastic as their watermarking substrate. These materials range from magnetic sheeting and tape to vinyl and plastic. Designs are cut by hand with a craft knife or manipulated on a computer and cut by a sign-making machine. Shannon Brock's images look like they are formed by wires on the screen, while the others' watermarks are similar to the full watermarks made using flat metal. The plastic materials have some advantages: more complex and intricate designs can be cut and many of these materials have an adhesive backing, which makes them easy to attach and remove from the mould. Brock cut her repeat design by hand from magnetic sheeting, although the pattern looks regular enough to have been cut by a machine. Her bold repeat is enhanced by the subtle background watermark caused by the laid and chain lines of the Amies mould on which she formed her sheets. Tom Leech was innovative in his choice of watermarking substrate: a set of mehndi stencils he found in Kathmandu. These self-adhesive plastic designs are made to be attached to the palm of one's hand; henna dye is then brushed over them to make a pattern. Leech's intuition that this would make a good watermark was correct. The stencil works perfectly. Leech's image choice, the raised hand, is a common sign of greeting and a historic watermark symbol. His integration of East and West in fiber choice, pulp preparation, and sheet forming provides a metaphor for papermaking as a medium of unification. Katie MacGregor and Bernie Vinzani used current technology to make their image, which they scanned and manipulated using computer software. The watermark was cut in vinyl using automated sign-making equipment. This work has a special quality that is most common to the historic sheets in the collection: the image is not really visible until the sheet is held up to the light. Using the computer saved labor in preparing the watermark, and the image is stored on computer disk so that it can easily be reproduced if the original is damaged or worn. Mina Takahashi combined three plastic materials to fabricate her piece—a hand-cut vinyl watermark, a computer-cut vinyl watermark, and strapping tape—all of which she adhered to the mould. Her choice of materials makes perfect sense: use a computer to make an exact circle, utilize the existing width of the strapping tape, and hand-cut the unusual image. Takahashi successfully shows off the subtle differences that watermarks can achieve. The keyhole image is translucent and requires transmitted light to reveal it, while the wall stripes in gray are opaque and can be seen in reflected light because of the differences in the two surface textures upon which the sheet was formed (the mould surface and the smoother tape). The image, a lock design found in the New York City subways that Takahashi first noticed a decade ago, has appeared to her over the years as several different forms of a kneeling figure. This is living proof that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I lived in New York for eleven years and never even noticed these locks; I doubt they would have conjured the same images for me if I had. Two artists have explored the idea of drawing or painting an image on the mould surface. Both used textile paint, which comes in small tubes with tiny applicator tips, making it a great image-making tool for fluid, curvilinear images. Each artist applied the textile paint to a separate screen surface (similar to the Japanese sha) so as not to alter the permanent mould surface. Both Western and Eastern sheet-forming methods can be used with this type of screen surface, since it can be flexed or held rigid. Wendy Cain's use of textile paint for her watermark resembles a traditional wire mark, although shaping the entire pattern in wire would have been much more labor intensive. By beating her pulp (abaca) for a short time, she prevented unwanted shrinkage and distortion in the sheet. When her sheet is laid flat against its folder (as if backed by a light-colored paper), the watermarked design is quite visible, offering a nice contrast to the image's appearance when backlit and viewed through the window. Cynthia Thompson applied textile paint through a stencil to create her watermarked image, which might be compared to a full watermark. She cleverly backed her pigmented sheet with a lighter sheet that makes the watermark appear without backlight. This piece is complex and filled with a meaning not necessarily caught at first glance. The flesh-colored paper almost hides the subtle, digitally printed image, which adds a mysterious element as two figures, mouths almost touching, both whisper into the watermarked ear. Indeed, "Whisper," the title of the piece, alludes to a conversation we will never hear but, once beckoned into the piece, can perhaps imagine. Two artists used printmaking techniques for this project. Both reproduced their images photographically onto silkscreen mesh but used this surface in quite different ways. Robbin Silverberg's primary approach involved laying the silkscreen on top of a freshly couched, three-color, triple layer of paper (a base sheet of white cotton with two pigmented layers of finely beaten cotton on top). She then sprayed water through the screen, removing fiber where there was no image, and creating the image by revealing the colors of the fibers beneath. This is the opposite of the usual watermarking process because here fibers were removed in varying degrees to form the mark. In this respect, it is similar to the lace paper method used by Kristin Kavanagh. For contrast, Silverberg also cut text and lines from adhesive-backed magnetic sheeting, which she adhered to the mould she used to form the base sheet, producing a true watermark. Another use of silkscreen appears in Gangolf Ulbricht's original piece, "Thumbprint." Ulbricht formed his sheets using the silkscreen as his mould surface. During sheet formation, the fiber laid down thinner where the image appeared. Ulbricht's image choice is appropriate because he uses a mark that we are all familiar with. Historically, watermarks provided information about the paper or its maker. The thumbprint is a generically recognizable image, yet each one is unique and for that reason they have traditionally been used for identification. The large scale of this image entices us, drawing us closer for further examination. Ulbricht's original design is especially well suited to the format of the portfolio, as are several of the other works. When viewing his piece through the folder's window, we merely see abstract shapes; on opening the folder, the complete image is revealed and makes sense. The effect achieved by Leech is similar: at first glance we see only a pattern, yet when we view the entire sheet, a hand raises to greet us. MacGregor and Vinzani have coupled image with type. The image appears through the window, but the type around the image is visible only when the folder is opened. Takahashi's frame-within-a-frame effectively shows different watermarking styles, one of them hidden inside its folder. Finally, Thompson's watermarked image can be seen with the folder closed, but only a tiny part of the printed image is apparent, which provokes us to look at the whole sheet. One question still remains. How did these subtle marking devices come about? There are several answers. Watermarks were often used as a means of identifying the papermaker, the mill, or whoever commissioned the manufacture of the sheet. They were used (unsuccessfully, at first) to prevent forgery. They were sometimes used to identify mould sizes and thus the sizes of sheets of paper (although some papers of various sizes have been shown to have the same marks, which means these are not always accurate guides). Some were trademarks of the papermakers. At a time when many of the workmen could not read, pictures would have been a perfect means of communication. Some watermarks may have been merely artistic. Or perhaps they were purely symbolic, as Harold Bayley proposes in The Lost Language of Symbolism. Bayley theorizes that numerous mystics and puritanical sects during the Middle Ages in Europe used watermarks as a secret language. Whatever their original intent, watermarks have developed both technically and aesthetically as an effective way of embedding both text and images within a sheet of paper. From the original marks made by wire to the more complex light-and-shade watermarks and the artistic creations they have inspired, it seems that each watermarking technique has a technical link to the past. Only the materials and methods have changed. In Hand Papermaking's portfolio, some of the artists are interested in watermarking as a technique, others are interested in the history of paper and methods, and still others use the process to create works of art right in their sheets. And surely, a few secrets remain encapsulated within these sheets, to mystify and tantalize viewers for many years.