Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts is known for its focus on traditional painting; color, composition, markmaking, and realism are the cornerstones of the training process. Trying to master these skills with paper pulp was difficult. I processed the pulp in a Whiz mixer, creating a dense and clumpy substance. Aqueous dispersed pigments and powdered pigments only went so far toward creating rich colors. Using a silkscreen as a mould and stretcher bars for the deckle, I hand-built large sheets of paper, carefully mixing each layer to create color gradations. Markmaking was restricted to a few tricks, such as double couching and pouring washes of pulp onto moulds. Many of the early limitations of painting with paper were eventually removed, thanks to several artists. Rick Hungerford, Neal Bonham, Paul Wong (at Dieu Donné), and papermakers working at other studios—including Carriage House, Twinrocker, and Pyramid Atlantic—began to break the limits of texture and color. Hungerford, in particular, created overbeaten pulps from cotton rag that could be super saturated with pigment. These pulps were so fine they could be applied with a paintbrush; the color was so intense that the age of imposed pastels was over. The common lament of many papermakers—”It looked good when it was wet”—was vanishing. These great technical pioneers opened the door for artists to truly paint with paper. A trip to Japan in 1989 also significantly influenced my thinking about working with paper. With Asao Shimura as our guide, Liz Galbraith and I visited nine papermakers. We were specifically interested in stenciling and other decorative techniques. The incredible range of papers produced by these artisans taught us that there are no limits in working with paper and that experimentation is one of the best parts of the journey. Armed with the technical innovations of contemporary papermakers and inspired by the endless beauty of Japanese papers, I went back to the studio to translate what I had learned into landscape paper paintings. My work has always focused on landscapes. I grew up across the street from the ocean; as I child I would watch the sun rise on the horizon. My constant companions were the changing sky, the color of the water, and the sense of calm or disturbance as reflected in these two huge color fields. Landscape has continued to be both visually and spiritually compelling for me. The pull of water, land, and sky was so strong that I lived on a small island in the French West Indies for two years after college. While there, I painted and drew views of the hillsides, the ocean, the clouds, and the mountains. These sketches continue to be a source of inspiration and a basis for my work. But the memory of these views actually serves as a greater influence; a memory not just of how things looked but of how they felt and how they made me feel. I have converted my garage into a studio. My beater is my best friend because it allows me to produce pulps for different special effects. The tabletops are filled with buckets of pulp, cotton rag that has been beaten to the consistency of dust and supersaturated with aqueous dispersed pigments. There are moulds of many sizes, including a 30 x 40 pouring system (built for me by Glenn Gauvry), which can also be adapted for smaller work.  I create small sketches in paper to test my palette and marks. After the sketches dry, I recreate the successful ones on a larger scale. I decide first on the color of the base sheet, which is usually made from abaca, and add a small amount of the pigmented cotton rag. This creates a colored ground that will influence the entire piece. Once I have poured this sheet, I block in the composition using squirt bottles filled with colored pulps. I manipulate the overbeaten pulps in many ways. The pulps can be diluted with water to create subtle washes that blend with the surrounding colors. Formation aid can be added to the colored pulp to give more control in making lines. Water can also be squirted to scratch away the top layer of pulp and reveal the color underneath. I use these techniques in combination to add and alter multiple layers of pulp. Once the paper painting is done, it is pressed and dried. Small pieces go into a drying box made from a standing press. I remove the water from larger pieces using a vacuum table and roll them out onto a board to dry flat. The beauty and power of natural landscape has an impact on most people. We are struck by the scale of vistas and the place they give us in this world; the impossible and sometimes preposterous combinations of color; and the energy we see and sense in the fields, water, sky, and clouds. Natural landscape is always in motion. Even in moments of stillness, there is a whisper of movement. Capturing this sense of change and energy has been at the center of my recent work. Over the past few years, I have also been trying to invest my landscapes with feeling. In some of them I attempt to convey a strong emotional state and provoke that response in the viewer. Other work is painstakingly constructed so that color shifts and gradations are seamless, making the resulting work calm and serene. The shift in bringing emotion to these landscapes came from the death of my companion, Kent Kasuboske. While landscape imagery stayed as the constant, the process of painting and markmaking with paper pulps became a vehicle for reflecting emotions.  Anyone who has made paper can recognize the telltale marks that reveal paper was used in an artwork. For all of the control we have gained in manipulating paper pulps, working with paper is still a partnership. I learn my best lessons from the paper and my best work comes when I trust the paper and let it speak for the art.