This portfolio, Intergenerationality: Collaborations in Handmade Paper, celebrates thirty years in the life of this medium. Looking back and look-ing forward, we invited artists of two different generations to team up and collaborate on an edition. One artist would be around sixty years old, active in the field when Hand Papermaking was founded. The other would be thirtyish or younger, born around the same time as the magazine. The participants themselves would decide how they would work together—side by side or long distance, in the wet stages or a combination of wet and dry, sharing a studio throughout or passing their pieces back and forth. There would be no set theme aside from the intergenerational collaboration itself. To keep the projects fresh we would look for artists who had not worked together before. This would also sidestep any estab-lished mentor–student relationships, so that both artists would be on equal footing. All thirty artists (fifteen pairs) would be embark-ing on something new. Through a call in Hand Papermaking Newsletter and a lot of networking we developed a good list of possible artists; then came the difficult task of pairing them up. In a few cases the artists had already identified one another as kindred spirits but had nev-er worked together. Perhaps one had been on a tour that came through the other's studio, or they met at a craft school while pur-suing different projects. And yes, as happens these days, one pair were Facebook friends who had never met in real life. But in most cases I paired them up. There were logistical issues to consider (if a pair chose to meet at some point in the process, would it be feasible for them?), but more importantly I looked for sympathies in their work. It seemed to me that most artists would be able to work together if they had some common creative ground, wheth-er in imagery, technique, or methodology. I am grateful to all of them for their willingness to be paired up with strangers, their faith in my choices, and the spirit of enthusiasm with which they addressed their projects. The resulting pieces are as varied as the artists, and unfold-ed in ways none of us could have predicted. As with all the best  collaborations, the pieces are more than the sum of their parts—the work not just of two artists but of their intersecting sensi-bilities. Whether their interests overlap or are opposed, meld or stand in contrast, these are images made in conversation. And while these projects cannot be neatly categorized, some common themes and preoccupations did emerge: time, transience, and ageing; landscape and sense of place; concern for the future of our society and not forgetting the lessons of our past; use and re-use of the materials around us; the continuation of papermaking as a craft. These things naturally seemed to emerge in contem-plating the last three decades and what these thirty artists wished to bring forward.  Michael Durgin suggested young Chinese artist Yang Chang-he as a portfolio participant. As Durgin was in Beijing at the time, who better to collaborate with Yang than one of Hand Papermak-ing magazine's founders? Their piece subtly and poetically uses black and white sand embedded between freshly couched sheets as a metaphor for time and a blending of cultures.  Both Catherine Nash and Radha Pandey have traveled and lived in various parts of the world, and their abstract landscape evokes both a specific sense of place (with its red Sedona soil col-lected near Nash's home in Arizona), and a wider sense of the landscape as a continuum. We look up at the same sun wherever we go and that sun reflects down on the earth, on the sea, on each of us wherever we are.  Two mobile papermakers working together seemed almost too good to be true. Jillian Bruschera and Peter Thomas made an excellent team, and their piece—with a tire track running across the United States—reflects their accumulated experiences of bringing papermaking around the country. Each of its multiple pulp layers contains its own backstory.  May Babcock and Tom Balbo took views familiar from their respective environments and superimposed them. I paired them because each has a particular fluency with pulp painting, but their overlapping meditation on landscape is rich in unexpected ways. Multiple vistas and vantage points recede and advance at the same time, creating a shared topography from their separate ones.  Melissa Jay Craig and Katharine Lark DeLamater play with the liminal space between the natural and domestic worlds. Together they created an environment on the page that comes out of their pleasure in working with one another and finding a shared space to be in. Craig's biomorphic bark lace and DeLamater's linear drawings unite in their cochineal colors, which range from pink to black. Melissa Jay Craig and Katharine Lark DeLamater play with the liminal space between the natural and domestic worlds. Together they created an environment on the page that comes out of their pleasure in working with one another and finding a shared space to be in. Craig's biomorphic bark lace and DeLamater's linear drawings unite in their cochineal colors, which range from pink to black. Science and nature come together in North Country Summer by Velma Bolyard and Genevieve Lapp. The unpredictable beauty of Bolyard's botanical pressure-printing process takes up resi-dence on sheets designed with Lapp's paper-engineering exper-tise. No two of these pieces are alike, but each of them brings the northern New York State landscape into our hands.  Science and nature come together in North Country Summer by Velma Bolyard and Genevieve Lapp. The unpredictable beauty of Bolyard's botanical pressure-printing process takes up resi-dence on sheets designed with Lapp's paper-engineering exper-tise. No two of these pieces are alike, but each of them brings the northern New York State landscape into our hands.  Considering the past and future of women's rights, Jennaway Pearson and Gibby Waitzkin created an image of the Roman god-dess Juno. Many layers of delicate plant fibers tinted with natural dyes give body to the figure and suggest the layers of history that give strength to the continuing struggle. Considering the past and future of women's rights, Jennaway Pearson and Gibby Waitzkin created an image of the Roman god-dess Juno. Many layers of delicate plant fibers tinted with natural dyes give body to the figure and suggest the layers of history that give strength to the continuing struggle. Julie McLaughlin and Johan Solberg explored the effects of kakishibu (persimmon dye) and indigo on different types of kozo fibers. Their repeatedly dyed and pleated sheets yielded a range of colors and textures. With a nod to Solberg's bookbinding background and McLaughlin's years of costume design, they joined their separate kozo pieces through collage and stitching, creating a work that re-flects both of their practices while being something new.  Julie McLaughlin and Johan Solberg explored the effects of kakishibu (persimmon dye) and indigo on different types of kozo fibers. Their repeatedly dyed and pleated sheets yielded a range of colors and textures. With a nod to Solberg's bookbinding background and McLaughlin's years of costume design, they joined their separate kozo pieces through collage and stitching, creating a work that re-flects both of their practices while being something new.  Mary Hark traveled to Ghana to collaborate with Ibrahim Ma-hama. Their choice of materials combines their respective prac-tices: local mulberry, which Hark has been researching for the past decade; and jute sacks, which figure heavily in Mahama's large-scale installations. The cut and embedded pieces of woven jute provide an intriguing texture under the silky mulberry fibers. Opening the outer paper enclosure to reveal the inner piece feels like receiving a letter containing a single piece of a puzzle. What image would be revealed if you could reconstruct the whole?  Mary Hark traveled to Ghana to collaborate with Ibrahim Ma-hama. Their choice of materials combines their respective prac-tices: local mulberry, which Hark has been researching for the past decade; and jute sacks, which figure heavily in Mahama's large-scale installations. The cut and embedded pieces of woven jute provide an intriguing texture under the silky mulberry fibers. Opening the outer paper enclosure to reveal the inner piece feels like receiving a letter containing a single piece of a puzzle. What image would be revealed if you could reconstruct the whole?  Lindsey Fromm and Tom Leech mined their own back pag-es—literally. Using a drawing from Fromm's sketchbook and re-pulping some of Leech's drawings from thirty years ago, they created many layers during both the sheet-forming and letter-press-printing processes. The resulting image hums with energy, and is all the richer for a spelling error that inspired an additional print run.  Lindsey Fromm and Tom Leech mined their own back pag-es—literally. Using a drawing from Fromm's sketchbook and re-pulping some of Leech's drawings from thirty years ago, they created many layers during both the sheet-forming and letter-press-printing processes. The resulting image hums with energy, and is all the richer for a spelling error that inspired an additional print run.  Joan Hall and Sarah Rose Lejeune use abaca and minerals in the papermaking process to suggest skin's natural ageing and weathering effects such as rust. The abaca is strong but sounds brittle when it rattles in your hands, like an old leaf fluttering in the wind. Their piece is composed of many thin layers that have been rubbed and manipulated in unpredictable ways, allowing different colors to show through and making it equally beautiful on the back.  Joan Hall and Sarah Rose Lejeune use abaca and minerals in the papermaking process to suggest skin's natural ageing and weathering effects such as rust. The abaca is strong but sounds brittle when it rattles in your hands, like an old leaf fluttering in the wind. Their piece is composed of many thin layers that have been rubbed and manipulated in unpredictable ways, allowing different colors to show through and making it equally beautiful on the back.  There is no recto or verso in Emily Chaplain and Tatana Kell-ner's piece, but instead we have two sides of a double-headed coin. Two disastrous, defining events—Chernobyl and Hurricane Katrina—mark each artist's experience of what came before and remains after. You cannot read one side without seeing some-thing of the other, and thus we feel how natural disasters are in part manmade ones, and vice versa.  There is no recto or verso in Emily Chaplain and Tatana Kell-ner's piece, but instead we have two sides of a double-headed coin. Two disastrous, defining events—Chernobyl and Hurricane Katrina—mark each artist's experience of what came before and remains after. You cannot read one side without seeing some-thing of the other, and thus we feel how natural disasters are in part manmade ones, and vice versa.  Living on two sides of Lake Ontario, Flora Shum and Peter Sowiski are almost neighbors but live in different countries. Their piece Friendly Skies playfully (or sinisterly?) places a drone in the middle of a folded paper airplane. Filigreed laser-cut patterns, shaped like winged maple tree seeds, allow us to partly see through the sheet. This both cloaks and reveals the drone inside, leaving us to contemplate our culture of surveillance and border patrol. As every papermaker knows, the sheet-forming pro-cess is all about water. So it is fitting that Susan Gosin and Lara Henderson took up Masaru Emoto's research on pat-terns formed as liquid is exposed to music. Combining Gosin's years of experience with watermarking and Hen-derson's digital expertise, they created a watermark im-age of crystals formed while playing John Lennon's song "Imagine." Their double-couched image is readily visible without back lighting but looks particularly watery when viewed against the light.  Living on two sides of Lake Ontario, Flora Shum and Peter Sowiski are almost neighbors but live in different countries. Their piece Friendly Skies playfully (or sinisterly?) places a drone in the middle of a folded paper airplane. Filigreed laser-cut patterns, shaped like winged maple tree seeds, allow us to partly see through the sheet. This both cloaks and reveals the drone inside, leaving us to contemplate our culture of surveillance and border patrol. As every papermaker knows, the sheet-forming pro-cess is all about water. So it is fitting that Susan Gosin and Lara Henderson took up Masaru Emoto's research on pat-terns formed as liquid is exposed to music. Combining Gosin's years of experience with watermarking and Hen-derson's digital expertise, they created a watermark im-age of crystals formed while playing John Lennon's song "Imagine." Their double-couched image is readily visible without back lighting but looks particularly watery when viewed against the light.  Ruminating on handing down the craft of paper-making itself, Bernie Vinzani's watermarked words and Emma Sovich's letterpressed ones poignantly express the thoughts of papermakers of two generations. It is difficult to read all the text without holding it and manipulating it in the light yourself. Thus we find their words in our own hands, and feel the fragility and weight of carrying hand papermaking forward. In this way their piece seems to sum up the whole portfolio.  Ruminating on handing down the craft of paper-making itself, Bernie Vinzani's watermarked words and Emma Sovich's letterpressed ones poignantly express the thoughts of papermakers of two generations. It is difficult to read all the text without holding it and manipulating it in the light yourself. Thus we find their words in our own hands, and feel the fragility and weight of carrying hand papermaking forward. In this way their piece seems to sum up the whole portfolio.  It is tempting to look at these collaborations and try to draw conclusions about how the field has changed in the past thirty years and where it is headed in the future. Per-sonally, I prefer to see each of these projects as the unique result of their particular gestation process and the people, fibers, and places that went into their creation. But there may be a few lessons here that help us take the pulse of the medium. It is tempting to look at these collaborations and try to draw conclusions about how the field has changed in the past thirty years and where it is headed in the future. Per-sonally, I prefer to see each of these projects as the unique result of their particular gestation process and the people, fibers, and places that went into their creation. But there may be a few lessons here that help us take the pulse of the medium. While some teams worked on aspects of their project separately, most opted to be together in the same space for the bulk of the time. This comes as no surprise—papermakers like to work together. Many of my dearest friends are the people I have made paper with, and it is per-haps the best outcome of this portfolio that lasting friendships have been forged. Also worth noting is that not one pair took an easy route. Each project involved many steps and elements (to be repeated 152 times). Every piece has at least two layers, often many, many more. Perhaps this is only natural in a portfolio that muses on intergenerational collabora-tion. We also see a mixture of papermaking techniques from around the world, and a thorough understanding of the different properties of vari-ous fibers and sheet-forming methods and what each one does best. This speaks to the maturity of papermaking as an art form. In thirty years it has become a rich and articulate medium.  While some teams worked on aspects of their project separately, most opted to be together in the same space for the bulk of the time. This comes as no surprise—papermakers like to work together. Many of my dearest friends are the people I have made paper with, and it is per-haps the best outcome of this portfolio that lasting friendships have been forged. Also worth noting is that not one pair took an easy route. Each project involved many steps and elements (to be repeated 152 times). Every piece has at least two layers, often many, many more. Perhaps this is only natural in a portfolio that muses on intergenerational collabora-tion. We also see a mixture of papermaking techniques from around the world, and a thorough understanding of the different properties of vari-ous fibers and sheet-forming methods and what each one does best. This speaks to the maturity of papermaking as an art form. In thirty years it has become a rich and articulate medium.  We tend to think of the younger generation building on the ground-work of the older, and certainly this is true—we would not have many of the techniques and terms used here without the work of those who came before in researching and defining them. Hand Papermaking magazine also deserves some of the credit for this, by giving us a place for dissemi-nating information and sharing ideas. The magazine has brought old and new techniques to the attention of papermakers in far-flung places, and helped define terminology like "pulp painting" and "double couch" so we could all talk about it. And each successive generation has made its own valuable contributions that reinvigorate the medium and keep it fresh. All healthy communities need intergenerational partnerships, and this way of working—equally across generations—is one way our papermaking community keeps renewing itself.  We tend to think of the younger generation building on the ground-work of the older, and certainly this is true—we would not have many of the techniques and terms used here without the work of those who came before in researching and defining them. Hand Papermaking magazine also deserves some of the credit for this, by giving us a place for dissemi-nating information and sharing ideas. The magazine has brought old and new techniques to the attention of papermakers in far-flung places, and helped define terminology like "pulp painting" and "double couch" so we could all talk about it. And each successive generation has made its own valuable contributions that reinvigorate the medium and keep it fresh. All healthy communities need intergenerational partnerships, and this way of working—equally across generations—is one way our papermaking community keeps renewing itself.  Thirty years ago few people gave much thought to handmade paper as a material, let alone as a means of creative expression. Our field has grown and flourished. Papermakers who were in the field thirty years ago continue to make strong work, and younger artists have joined along the way. Each generation—and there are many in between—has taught others, who in turn have taught others. Our universe is slowly expand-ing. Maybe Halley's Comet did portend something good for papermak-ers. And the next time it comes around, in 2061, I expect hand paper-making as an art form to be stronger than ever. Thirty years ago few people gave much thought to handmade paper as a material, let alone as a means of creative expression. Our field has grown and flourished. Papermakers who were in the field thirty years ago continue to make strong work, and younger artists have joined along the way. Each generation—and there are many in between—has taught others, who in turn have taught others. Our universe is slowly expand-ing. Maybe Halley's Comet did portend something good for papermak-ers. And the next time it comes around, in 2061, I expect hand paper-making as an art form to be stronger than ever.