Wherever there has been paper there has been paper folding. We believe the Chinese developed practical methods for folding paper into decorative shapes, containers, simple toys, ceremonial items, and gift wrapping. Our penchant for adopting the Japanese word "origami" is largely a phenomenon of modern publishing; most of the earliest books about paper folding came from Japan in the 1950s. Though Japan cannot be credited as the first country to develop a paper folding tradition, they can claim early and rich technical and artistic contributions to the art. Many of these remain fundamental to modern practice and design.   An origami model is generally representational: a creature, such as a bird or a dragon; an inanimate object, such as a flower; a vehicle, such as a car or an airplane; or a utilitarian item, such as an envelope or a box. Masks, geometric forms, molecular models, toys, and even some abstract forms are popular subjects. (To origami purists, some of these cross over the line into the realm of paper sculpture.)   An origami model is most often folded from a single, square sheet of paper, with no cutting. Despite this widely held standard, many origami designs are folded from other shapes of paper, or from multiple sheets. Some modular creations use identical elements folded from same-size sheets. Others utilize different sizes. All of these variations are branches of an expanding art and each has its devotees. Origami artists also creatively exploit materials. With many wonderful materials other than paper readily available today, one can find folded art made from plastics, foils, fabric, film, and even food!    Possibly due to limited exposure to top-level folded art, the general public still assumes that all handmade paper is either too thick or too soft for folding. Most origami artists seek other qualities, and much of the handmade paper sold in fine-paper shops and art supply stores today is not suitable. Moreover, most origami enthusiasts are aghast and put-off at the cost of a sheet of fine, handmade paper, not realizing the true bargain in such a splendid and unique creation. Most regard their hobby as a creative      way to utilize the free paper all around them, such as old magazines (which fold wonderfully), and they are glad that their art does not require a high initial investment for materials and equipment, as painting, woodworking, or sculpting do. This attitude is unfortunate but understandable, as is the widely held perception that origami is just paper cranes and child's play. As a papermaker and an origami artist, I often find myself taking on the role of ambassador, delivering the good news to both camps. I may be the only origami artist who routinely makes paper, and I know of only a few papermakers who seriously study origami.   Richard Alexander (my partner) and I run the Origamido Studio, a storefront workshop in downtown Haverhill, Massachusetts. We strive to provide there an environment in which enthusiasts from both sides can come together in rewarding collaborations. Many origami artists have been enlightened about the virtues of handmade papers; now they cannot wait for their next chance at the vat and the prospect of producing lovely, durable, paper with the exact folding qualities needed for specific projects. Many papermakers who previously thought origami too challenging have been similarly won over.   As a designer of original origami from handmade paper for over twenty-five years, I have to admit I was not always aware of the many benefits of fine papers. I too began by enjoying origami as a simple pastime: a form of puzzle solving and a way to make clever toys and decorations for my friends. I had no idea about the true possibilities of the higher art until I read an article in a 1970 issue of Reader's Digest, about Japanese origami master Akira Yoshizawa. The article contained pictures of some of his creations, which profoundly inspired me. Above all, Mr. Yoshizawa's selection of paper was integral to his art: the sensitive creases were made possible by the fine, handmade papers that he chose so carefully. In Japan, Mr. Yoshizawa could choose from a wide range of paper. As a young boy living in Fitchburg, Massachusetts, I could not. (I would not have been able to afford fine paper, even if our local art supply store had carried it.) Driven by an intense passion, I began to teach myself how to make paper. My hometown had a papermill, so I did not have to go far for materials and advice about the papermaking process.   Most of my formative understanding of hand papermaking came from Dard Hunter's book, Papermaking The History and Technique of an Ancient Craft. From this      marvelous source I planned my early experiments and outlined questions for the professionals at the local papermill. It proved helpful that I knew something about papermaking before bothering busy experts: they were much more open to helping me if I only needed a little advice and not a crash-course on papermaking.   I enjoy the full process of my art, from selecting the fibers for the pulp to presenting a finished origami sculpture. The demands of each new origami design have pushed me to learn a wide range of papermaking techniques. Today, I am confident that I can successfully create the right combination of qualities to best suit a design. By choosing the raw materials, I can also create archivally stable works that will last for generations with little care.   Designing an origami model begins when I select a subject, usually some kind of animal, and then make several studies of its form. I prefer to observe live animals, as my academic training is in biology. Most of my subjects are local creatures: praying mantises, brown bats, gray squirrels, pond frogs. I visit exotic creatures, such as penguins and toucans, at local pet shops, zoos, or aquariums. The Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum, in Tucson, recently afforded me an artist residency. This gave me the opportunity to observe coyotes, rattlesnakes, hummingbirds, mountain lions, javelinas, coatis, and roadrunners in their natural habitat. The residency resulted in a show of my origami renditions of animals and plants of the Sonoran desert, at the museum's Ironwood Art Gallery. All of the animals were folded from handmade papers that I created especially for the exhibit pieces, using desert plant fibers harvested on the museum's grounds. Designing an origami model begins when I select a subject, usually some kind of animal, and then make several studies of its form. I prefer to observe live animals, as my academic training is in biology. Most of my subjects are local creatures: praying mantises, brown bats, gray squirrels, pond frogs. I visit exotic creatures, such as penguins and toucans, at local pet shops, zoos, or aquariums. The Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum, in Tucson, recently afforded me an artist residency. This gave me the opportunity to observe coyotes, rattlesnakes, hummingbirds, mountain lions, javelinas, coatis, and roadrunners in their natural habitat. The residency resulted in a show of my origami renditions of animals and plants of the Sonoran desert, at the museum's Ironwood Art Gallery. All of the animals were folded from handmade papers that I created especially for the exhibit pieces, using desert plant fibers harvested on the museum's grounds.    After making sketches of my subject, with pencil or watercolor, I begin to design a method of folding. Early in my career I did a lot of blind experimenting, not knowing much about the ways of origami, and many of my best results came through persistence and happy accident. Some creations took years to develop. Now, origami is my second language and I can design more surely and in much less time. Once I knew a few useful manipulations in the art of paper folding I could begin to design. Like engineering or musical composition, I found it helps to know the work of others, which can show creative potential and how elements can be arranged. After making sketches of my subject, with pencil or watercolor, I begin to design a method of folding. Early in my career I did a lot of blind experimenting, not knowing much about the ways of origami, and many of my best results came through persistence and happy accident. Some creations took years to develop. Now, origami is my second language and I can design more surely and in much less time. Once I knew a few useful manipulations in the art of paper folding I could begin to design. Like engineering or musical composition, I found it helps to know the work of others, which can show creative potential and how elements can be arranged.          Coming up with an efficient and elegant folding sequence is only one part of origamido. I coined this word using the Japanese words origami (folded paper) and do (the way, pronounced "doe"). Do implies that the artist has the opportunity to include more than just the craft in her or his work, and that the artist may realize a life enriching experience in the process. I strive for this; it is a deeply satisfying part of my life. The Japanese use the designation "do" in the fine arts, as in brush calligraphy (shodo), but they are not yet used to the idea of origamido. Even in Japan, the higher form of the paper folding art is largely unknown. Coming up with an efficient and elegant folding sequence is only one part of origamido. I coined this word using the Japanese words origami (folded paper) and do (the way, pronounced "doe"). Do implies that the artist has the opportunity to include more than just the craft in her or his work, and that the artist may realize a life enriching experience in the process. I strive for this; it is a deeply satisfying part of my life. The Japanese use the designation "do" in the fine arts, as in brush calligraphy (shodo), but they are not yet used to the idea of origamido. Even in Japan, the higher form of the paper folding art is largely unknown.    Once satisfied that I have a good plan for folding, I begin to design the paper. When making and choosing a paper for my work I keep in mind the words of Master Yoshizawa: "The folds are the bones and the paper is the flesh." I consider relative thickness, texture, color, strength, crispness, and opacity. For my praying mantis, the paper must be tissue thin, strong, translucent, smooth, and crisp. For a piglet, I use thick, opaque, slightly fuzzy and soft paper. When I first started, I had mixed success at making the paper I wanted. Now I can make exactly the paper I need in just a few days, usually with planned variations in each batch, for experimentation with other designs. I make anywhere from twenty-five to one hundred sheets of paper for any particular design. I use this paper quickly because each finished, displayable model may require several attempts. Origami at this level, like a musical performance, depends on regular practice and refinement. Even though a design may be my own, I still have to master it, just as a choreographer-dancer must master his or her dance. Once satisfied that I have a good plan for folding, I begin to design the paper. When making and choosing a paper for my work I keep in mind the words of Master Yoshizawa: "The folds are the bones and the paper is the flesh." I consider relative thickness, texture, color, strength, crispness, and opacity. For my praying mantis, the paper must be tissue thin, strong, translucent, smooth, and crisp. For a piglet, I use thick, opaque, slightly fuzzy and soft paper. When I first started, I had mixed success at making the paper I wanted. Now I can make exactly the paper I need in just a few days, usually with planned variations in each batch, for experimentation with other designs. I make anywhere from twenty-five to one hundred sheets of paper for any particular design. I use this paper quickly because each finished, displayable model may require several attempts. Origami at this level, like a musical performance, depends on regular practice and refinement. Even though a design may be my own, I still have to master it, just as a choreographer-dancer must master his or her dance.    Those few, final examples that succeed as art are real treasures to me: each is unique and reflects my personal experience from studying the original subject. The hallmark of a successful piece is not always its beauty (for that is strictly decorative) but its ability to teach something every time one sees it. One wants to look at it, again and again. Origami can both exhibit beauty—through its graceful lines and display of the paper's qualities—and intrigue the mind. The viewer cannot help but wonder how the piece was folded. (This creates an interesting balance of the left and the right brain being stimulated. Not surprisingly, many of origami's fans are professionals in science, math, and other technical fields. For me, origami is the perfect balance between art and science.) Those few, final examples that succeed as art are real treasures to me: each is unique and reflects my personal experience from studying the original subject. The hallmark of a successful piece is not always its beauty (for that is strictly decorative) but its ability to teach something every time one sees it. One wants to look at it, again and again. Origami can both exhibit beauty—through its graceful lines and display of the paper's qualities—and intrigue the mind. The viewer cannot help but wonder how the piece was folded. (This creates an interesting balance of the left and the right brain being stimulated. Not surprisingly, many of origami's fans are professionals in science, math, and other technical fields. For me, origami is the perfect balance between art and science.)     I have employed many kinds of papermaking techniques in my origami projects. For thin tissue papers, I use an adaptation of the Japanese sheet-forming method of nagashizuki. I have used natural neri, which I prefer, but for convenience I now use the synthetic form. Most of the tissue-weight papers I make are for folding into life-size insects and flowers, and so the square area of the sheet usually need not be larger than twelve inches; a life-size origami mantis needs a sheet of paper only nine inches square. When making a horseshoe crab, I keep the amount of fiber somewhat reduced in the corner of the paper that will become I have employed many kinds of papermaking techniques in my origami projects. For thin tissue papers, I use an adaptation of the Japanese sheet-forming method of nagashizuki. I have used natural neri, which I prefer, but for convenience I now use the synthetic form. Most of the tissue-weight papers I make are for folding into life-size insects and flowers, and so the square area of the sheet usually need not be larger than twelve inches; a life-size origami mantis needs a sheet of paper only nine inches square. When making a horseshoe crab, I keep the amount of fiber somewhat reduced in the corner of the paper that will become        the slender tail. I am later rewarded for this effort when I am able to form eight layers of paper into a thin spike. the slender tail. I am later rewarded for this effort when I am able to form eight layers of paper into a thin spike.    When using a Western-style wove mould and deckle for nagashizuki, I prefer abaca, bamboo, hemp, or some blend of these to make insects and flowers. These fibers are long and well suited to nagashizuki. Kozo works well for my brown bats and other small origami mammals. I color the pulp before adding the neri, and I sometimes add Hercon 70 sizing. Long fibers, beaten a little longer than is customary, make a nice strong paper that holds up to repeated folding. I usually beat these fibers for one-and-a-half or two hours, in a Hollander. Sometimes I do additional beating by hand, and I always pick over the pulp carefully to remove knots and clumps. When using a Western-style wove mould and deckle for nagashizuki, I prefer abaca, bamboo, hemp, or some blend of these to make insects and flowers. These fibers are long and well suited to nagashizuki. Kozo works well for my brown bats and other small origami mammals. I color the pulp before adding the neri, and I sometimes add Hercon 70 sizing. Long fibers, beaten a little longer than is customary, make a nice strong paper that holds up to repeated folding. I usually beat these fibers for one-and-a-half or two hours, in a Hollander. Sometimes I do additional beating by hand, and I always pick over the pulp carefully to remove knots and clumps.    Because these papers must be so thin, I couch the sheets onto felts and then press the water out slowly. I favor two drying methods: brushing onto glass and using a ventilated post. With the ventilated post I usually leave the sheet on its felt. This does not add much to the drying time since the paper web is negligible. Desired texture guides the decision between the methods: glass gives a glossy surface and felts produce a toothy one. My favorite felts are cleaning cloths for cars, made of orange, super-absorbent, synthetic chamois. They are durable, seem to be widely available in the United States, perform extremely well, and hold up to many washes with little shrinkage. Because these papers must be so thin, I couch the sheets onto felts and then press the water out slowly. I favor two drying methods: brushing onto glass and using a ventilated post. With the ventilated post I usually leave the sheet on its felt. This does not add much to the drying time since the paper web is negligible. Desired texture guides the decision between the methods: glass gives a glossy surface and felts produce a toothy one. My favorite felts are cleaning cloths for cars, made of orange, super-absorbent, synthetic chamois. They are durable, seem to be widely available in the United States, perform extremely well, and hold up to many washes with little shrinkage.    The origami subjects dictate the fiber blends. For birds and mammals I like to use various blends of abaca, cotton rag, cotton linters, flax, linen, hemp, and agave. Mammals get a higher percentage of cotton; birds are either 80% abaca and 20% cotton, all flax, or a blend of flax and cotton rag; reptiles and amphibians are also high in abaca or flax. I like the hard, silky look that abaca can exhibit when dried between smooth blotters or onto glass (great for sea turtles). I can create other textures by adding textured sheets of fabric or board into the ventilated drying post. To get a crepe finish, I hand-crumple freshly pressed sheets. For this effect I take one sheet, fresh off a pressed post, and crumple it into a ball. I then gently open the sheet and crumple it again (sometimes repeating this step several more times). Each successive crumpling imparts a finer creped texture. I dry these sheets without restraint. The origami subjects dictate the fiber blends. For birds and mammals I like to use various blends of abaca, cotton rag, cotton linters, flax, linen, hemp, and agave. Mammals get a higher percentage of cotton; birds are either 80% abaca and 20% cotton, all flax, or a blend of flax and cotton rag; reptiles and amphibians are also high in abaca or flax. I like the hard, silky look that abaca can exhibit when dried between smooth blotters or onto glass (great for sea turtles). I can create other textures by adding textured sheets of fabric or board into the ventilated drying post. To get a crepe finish, I hand-crumple freshly pressed sheets. For this effect I take one sheet, fresh off a pressed post, and crumple it into a ball. I then gently open the sheet and crumple it again (sometimes repeating this step several more times). Each successive crumpling imparts a finer creped texture. I dry these sheets without restraint.    Overbeaten abaca is my favorite fiber. I use formation aid, then hand-slather or spray the pulp onto stretched pieces of non-woven polyester. Using these methods, I can make thin, tough, sheets as large as I require. I have folded a life-size origami penguin from a five-foot square sheet of such paper. These sheets remain on the polyester form until dry. This pulp's high shrinkage eliminates the need for any pressing. At six-inch intervals all around the sheet, within the edge of the wet pulp, I drive stainless steel staples into the wood frame that supports the polyester. As the pulp shrinks, the staples restrain the sheet, causing it to dry as tight as the head of a drum. The pulp reduces in thickness too, and a smooth, thin sheet is formed without pressing. Overbeaten abaca is my favorite fiber. I use formation aid, then hand-slather or spray the pulp onto stretched pieces of non-woven polyester. Using these methods, I can make thin, tough, sheets as large as I require. I have folded a life-size origami penguin from a five-foot square sheet of such paper. These sheets remain on the polyester form until dry. This pulp's high shrinkage eliminates the need for any pressing. At six-inch intervals all around the sheet, within the edge of the wet pulp, I drive stainless steel staples into the wood frame that supports the polyester. As the pulp shrinks, the staples restrain the sheet, causing it to dry as tight as the head of a drum. The pulp reduces in thickness too, and a smooth, thin sheet is formed without pressing.          The origami penguin represents a family of designs that feature both sides of the paper, a technique commonly referred to as "inside-out" origami. For the penguin, one side of the paper is all black and the other side is all white; the folding method deliberately exposes the white side on the belly of the penguin. I have also used this method to make a gray squirrel, an amazon parrot, and a toucan. The origami penguin represents a family of designs that feature both sides of the paper, a technique commonly referred to as "inside-out" origami. For the penguin, one side of the paper is all black and the other side is all white; the folding method deliberately exposes the white side on the belly of the penguin. I have also used this method to make a gray squirrel, an amazon parrot, and a toucan.    Paper that is a different color on each side is referred to as "duo" paper, in origami parlance. I make such papers by several methods; each has its merits and detractions. One way is to couch two differently colored sheets back-to-back. This works very well for sheets small enough to form on a hand mould. Larger sheets may be formed separately and joined with paste later, a method referred to a "back-coating." The toucan required a two-foot square composite of two sheets, so I opted to back-coat. For the large penguin paper, I used the sprayed-pulp method, spraying down a layer of black pulp first, then the white pulp. Paper that is a different color on each side is referred to as "duo" paper, in origami parlance. I make such papers by several methods; each has its merits and detractions. One way is to couch two differently colored sheets back-to-back. This works very well for sheets small enough to form on a hand mould. Larger sheets may be formed separately and joined with paste later, a method referred to a "back-coating." The toucan required a two-foot square composite of two sheets, so I opted to back-coat. For the large penguin paper, I used the sprayed-pulp method, spraying down a layer of black pulp first, then the white pulp.    Most of my origami are wet-folded. I dampen the paper very slightly with a mist of water before folding. Master Yoshizawa pioneered this method, which allows the paper to take subtle shaping, yielding a softer and more organic sculptural effect. Many papers, such as watercolor and art papers, which are too stiff and thick for most origami, become soft and pliant when dampened. When dry, the sizing hardens and makes the sculpture durable. Wet-folding also preserves the integrity of the fiber strength: dry-folding breaks many fibers, but when wet they slide and bend. A wet-folded piece, when dried, will keep its shape indefinitely. A dry-folded piece may gradually relax, begin to unfold, and eventually look tired. Most of my origami are wet-folded. I dampen the paper very slightly with a mist of water before folding. Master Yoshizawa pioneered this method, which allows the paper to take subtle shaping, yielding a softer and more organic sculptural effect. Many papers, such as watercolor and art papers, which are too stiff and thick for most origami, become soft and pliant when dampened. When dry, the sizing hardens and makes the sculpture durable. Wet-folding also preserves the integrity of the fiber strength: dry-folding breaks many fibers, but when wet they slide and bend. A wet-folded piece, when dried, will keep its shape indefinitely. A dry-folded piece may gradually relax, begin to unfold, and eventually look tired.    Because the wet-folding method relies on sizing, waterleaf (paper lacking sizing) and washi need to first be specially prepared by back-coating. In this simple method, two sheets of paper (identical or different) are pasted together. The paste acts as sizing. Mr. Yoshizawa uses cooked wheat starch paste, which I have used, too. I prefer refined methyl cellulose, to prevent attack from insects and mold. Because the wet-folding method relies on sizing, waterleaf (paper lacking sizing) and washi need to first be specially prepared by back-coating. In this simple method, two sheets of paper (identical or different) are pasted together. The paste acts as sizing. Mr. Yoshizawa uses cooked wheat starch paste, which I have used, too. I prefer refined methyl cellulose, to prevent attack from insects and mold.    The process of back-coating is easy. First, be sure to have a flat surface larger than the paper to be treated; a scrap of thin plywood works well. Prepare your paste according to the instructions on the package, or make a starch paste by cooking one part starch to five parts water. Trim one of the two sheets so that it is one inch shorter The process of back-coating is easy. First, be sure to have a flat surface larger than the paper to be treated; a scrap of thin plywood works well. Prepare your paste according to the instructions on the package, or make a starch paste by cooking one part starch to five parts water. Trim one of the two sheets so that it is one inch shorter        than the other in each dimension. Lightly spray both sides of the papers with water and, with a dry house-painting brush, spread the water droplets out to evenly dampen the paper. Spread the paste thinly and evenly on the wrong side of the larger sheet (the side you do not want to show). Gently apply the wrong side of the smaller sheet to the pasted side of the larger sheet and center it. You will have an exposed edge of paste all the way around the paper sandwich. Then apply the paste-edge side of the larger sheet to the board and brush smoothly with a dry brush. Through this form of restraint drying, the paper stays flat and tight. Cut it from the board when completely dry. (This method is widely used to make book cloth and to prepare oriental papers for book covers and box making.) than the other in each dimension. Lightly spray both sides of the papers with water and, with a dry house-painting brush, spread the water droplets out to evenly dampen the paper. Spread the paste thinly and evenly on the wrong side of the larger sheet (the side you do not want to show). Gently apply the wrong side of the smaller sheet to the pasted side of the larger sheet and center it. You will have an exposed edge of paste all the way around the paper sandwich. Then apply the paste-edge side of the larger sheet to the board and brush smoothly with a dry brush. Through this form of restraint drying, the paper stays flat and tight. Cut it from the board when completely dry. (This method is widely used to make book cloth and to prepare oriental papers for book covers and box making.)     Years ago, I used to buy or make white paper only, then color it with dyes and washes of paint as needed. I preferred pigmented paints to dyes, for their lightfast qualities. With the advent of the papermaking supplier, I began to use the pigment and retention agent system of coloring my pulp, even kozo. With this technique, the color seems to be more a part of the paper, far better than a coating or a stain. I use luster pigments for some of my animals: green for the pond frogs and hummingbirds; copper for the garden slugs and crayfish; purple for the grackles and butterflies. Years ago, I used to buy or make white paper only, then color it with dyes and washes of paint as needed. I preferred pigmented paints to dyes, for their lightfast qualities. With the advent of the papermaking supplier, I began to use the pigment and retention agent system of coloring my pulp, even kozo. With this technique, the color seems to be more a part of the paper, far better than a coating or a stain. I use luster pigments for some of my animals: green for the pond frogs and hummingbirds; copper for the garden slugs and crayfish; purple for the grackles and butterflies.    I keep a sample book of my papers, with notes about fiber and color blends, and I note which origami models the papers were used for. I do not use a square mould to make paper for origami, but I seldom waste paper. I may make a twelve-by-sixteen inch sheet of paper, but I may not intend to cut a twelve inch square from it. My model may require twelve, four-inch squares. I try not to have too much extra paper around because I am always trying out new ideas with different papers. This is the adventure that keeps drawing me back to the vat. I keep a sample book of my papers, with notes about fiber and color blends, and I note which origami models the papers were used for. I do not use a square mould to make paper for origami, but I seldom waste paper. I may make a twelve-by-sixteen inch sheet of paper, but I may not intend to cut a twelve inch square from it. My model may require twelve, four-inch squares. I try not to have too much extra paper around because I am always trying out new ideas with different papers. This is the adventure that keeps drawing me back to the vat.    I hope I have piqued your interest in origami and the possibility of using your own handmade papers for this art. If you already have the paper, then try to find an origami design that takes advantage of its qualities. If you have a favorite origami design, consider the qualities of paper that will bring out the best possible effects in the folding and in the form.