The book that proved truly helpful was Papermaking as an Artistic Craft by John Mason.1 Using Mr. Mason's advice about readily available plant materials, we were successfully making small sheets of paper within a year, although I discovered that my original plan of using wood scrap would not be suitable for our papermaking projects. As I became more deeply involved with papermaking, my woodworking career diminished. I realized that my work with paper encompassed most of my prior interests. Against a broad background of education, curiosity, skepticism, independence, determination, and persistence, my papermaking experiences have mainly revolved around research. My most productive paper research has been in three fields. One concerns fibers that have importance in papermaking. Another is the search for colorants to use with paper pulp. The third, which I shall describe in this article, is the documentation of hand papermakers who are carrying on unbroken traditions, continuing from their forefathers. This field research has been fascinating, stimulating, exhilarating, and occasionally exasperating. When my husband Sidney and I embarked on our first papermaking expedition, we never imagined that we would explore old papermaking for the next three decades. Fortuitously, in 1975 Donna and I attended a conference of hand papermakers in Appleton, Wisconsin. There we met Asao Shimura, a young Japanese papermaker and paper historian who later laid the groundwork for my own paper history research.2 We also heard a lecturer talk about a mill in Taiwan where paper was being made by hand. The speaker gave us the name and address of the mill. The following year I arranged a tour to Japan and Southeast Asia. In advance I wrote to Asao, who made plans for a whirlwind of papermaking Thirty-One Years of Field Research in Traditional Hand Papermaking elaine koretsky Hairpin curves on a road to eastern Tibet through the Himalayan mountains. Photo: Sidney Koretsky, 2003. All photos courtesy of the author. 12 - hand papermaking experiences. After our arrival in Tokyo, Asao took Sidney and me to the Oji Company's Paper Museum to view their marvelous collection of papermaking tools and objects made from paper. We inspected the museum's extensive library, where we met the venerable Seikichiro Goto, a talented artist who wrote books about handmade paper and printed them on his own handmade paper. On a side trip from Tokyo we drove up to Ogawa-machi. This was the first time I had witnessed the nagashizuki method of papermaking, and I found it incredible. Methods were totally different from the Western papermaking with which I was familiar. Among the practices that were new to me at the time were the use of formation aid, a counter-balance system to help in the making of very large sheets of paper, and couching of sheets on top of each other with no interleaving felts. En route to Kyoto on the bullet train, we stopped at Fujinomiya to visit Mr. Goto. Outside his studio we admired an enormous group of mitsumata (Edgeworthia chrysantha) bushes in full bloom. I learned that Mr. Goto used mostly mitsumata in his papermaking. I noticed a huge bale of the fiber in his studio, which indicated to me that he did not process his own plants. We watched him making paper, inspected his equipment, and purchased a whole group of his beautiful handmade cards that described Japanese papermaking. It was a superb visit. Next we visited Kurotani-machi. We walked through this ancient papermaking village, up the dirt roads alongside the small river that runs through the town. We watched one woman rinsing fiber, saw stampers at work, and observed a worker putting the beaten fiber into a naginata beater. Another woman was making special paper for obi wrappers. By coincidence, though, we had arrived on a day when most people were involved in producing tie-dyed paper, from sheets they had previously made. We documented the whole process of tying the paper with knots, making the dyestuffs, dipping the paper into the dyebaths, hanging on lines, and finally untying the knots. Back in Kyoto we met up with Tim Barrett, who had been studying Japanese papermaking on a Fulbright fellowship. After Japan, Sidney and I flew to Taiwan. In addition to touring the important sights of Taipei, we went to the address of the hand papermaking mill that I learned from the lecturer in Wisconsin. It was, instead, the place where the mill owner Lin Long Arng operated his paper-selling business. The mill itself was in Puli, a city in central Taiwan, four hours from Taipei. We inquired about visiting the mill. Mr. Lin suggested we rent a taxi to go there. His brother and mother accompanied us to show the way. It was a terrifying ride on a narrow two-lane road filled with oxcarts, motorcycles, farmers carrying heavy loads hanging from their shoulder poles, and huge lorries all juggling for space on the roadway. Our driver had his hand on the horn the whole way. At the time we did not imagine that we would spend thirty more years driving through Asia on roads of the same condition and often worse. The mill sat right in the center of huge expanses of rice fields. We had a complete tour of the mill, which consisted of two parts. In one section there was a small Fourdrinier machine. The other section was devoted to hand papermaking. They formed sheets in the nagashizuki style as we had observed in Japan. However, they beat the pulp in a large Hollander beater, which also contained a rotating washer. We then flew to Manila in the Philippines. Here I did not locate any traditional papermaking. However, I carried out some important fiber research concerning abaca (Manila hemp) and piña (pineapple). Our next stop was Bangkok, where I searched in many shops for handmade paper. I was unsuccessful at finding any for sale, but I bought some small gifts. When I looked closely at the wrapping paper that the clerk was using, I realized it was handmade. So I requested that each gift be wrapped in In 1976, in the village of Ogawa, Japan, I witnessed for the first time a papermaker couching sheets on top of each other with no interleaving felts. Photo: Sidney Koretsky. On the road to Barabise, Nepal, the workers push our car out of the mud. Photo: Sidney Koretsky, 1978. winter 2007 - 13 several layers of paper. At least I had acquired some handmade paper, and I discovered that paper was being made by hand in northern Thailand, near the city of Chiang Mai—a trip for a later time. Next, we visited Singapore, a very cosmopolitan city where I did not expect to find papermaking. However, I explored its fascinating Chinese section, where I saw handmade paper used in producing funeral objects that the deceased might want in the next world. Merchants sat in front of their shops making boats, radios, phonographs, bicycles, even houses, gluing the paper onto bamboo supports. I was told that the handmade paper came from China. After Singapore, we went to Indonesia, where I found no handmade paper. I did buy a calendar made of bamboo strips, with incised writing. Our final stop was Hong Kong, where I discovered a wonderful paper shop that sold xuan zhi, the fine Chinese handmade paper for painting and calligraphy. While in Hong Kong we drove to Kam Tin village in the "New Territories," where we stopped at a view point to see mainland China. I wondered when we would be allowed entry there to look for traditional Chinese papermaking. My second papermaking expedition occurred in 1978, when my husband and I traveled to Nepal and India. I learned that if we drove north from Nepal on the road to the Tibet border, we would find a settlement of papermakers. We drove through the mountains on a narrow paved road—fine until we reached an area devastated by landslides. Workers were fixing the road, removing huge boulders. Our car got stuck in the mud, and our driver wanted to turn back. But I persevered, and the kindly workers pushed us out. Further along, just north of Barabise village, as we descended into a valley, we saw hundreds of moulds drying in the sun. Here we stopped, and for the first time I saw paper made by pouring pulp onto a floating mould. I recorded all of the processes we witnessed. One woman was stripping the bark of the Daphne Bholua tree, the paper plant of Nepal. The bark was cooked for several hours with lye made from wood ash. We saw a basket filled with ash. Water was poured through it and a weak lye drained into the pail underneath. After cooking, the fiber was washed in the river, and then the little boys of the village beat it to a pulp. It was certainly a good way to harness their energy! I watched the Nepali papermaker mix the beaten pulp with water and place her mould, a simple wood frame with fabric attached, down into the river. She poured a bowl of pulp onto the mould, dispersed the pulp evenly in the water that filled the mould, then slowly lifted the mould, allowing the water to drain. No pressing was needed. She left the mould, with its attached paper, in the sun to dry. When dry the paper was finished, ready for sale. This was my only visit to this village. Fortunately I had thoroughly documented their papermaking, because I learned that in 2003, a terrible landslide had occurred, and this enclave of papermaking was completely destroyed. After Nepal we went on to India, where I witnessed other variations in hand papermaking. In Sanganer we observed traditional Indian papermaking, which looked extremely uncomfortable. The worker kneeled on the floor in front of his vat, and dipped his mould (a wood frame with a screen made from grass) vertically into the pulp, pulling up a layer of pulp that he dispersed over the surface of the screen, then couched onto a thin sheet of fabric. The pulp here was made from old ropes and cotton cuttings, beaten in a large Hollander. At Sri Aurobindo papermill in Pondicherry and at a papermill in Ahmedabad, we observed deckle-box papermaking. The mould was a wood frame with a detachable screen and a high deckle. To form a sheet, the papermaker poured a bucket of pulp onto the mould resting in a vat of water. After dispersing the pulp over the surface of the mould, he pressed a lever and the mould was automatically raised from the water. Next, he removed the deckle, lifted Paper drying on hundreds of moulds in Barabise, Nepal. Photo: Sidney Koretsky, 1978. In Barabise, a Nepalese papermaker disperses pulp on a mould placed in the river. Photo: Sidney Koretsky, 1978. 14 - hand papermaking the screen from its frame, and couched the sheet of paper onto a thin cloth. After a post of papers was pressed, the paper was hung on lines to dry. These mills used cotton cuttings for their raw material. In 1982, my ambition to seek hand papermaking in China came to fruition at last. The Chinese government was finally permitting individual travel in the country, although foreigners were restricted to visit only "open cities." Nancy Berliner, a friend fluent in Chinese who was working in Hong Kong at the time, agreed to accompany us on a month-long trip in China. In preparation for the trip, I interviewed Pan Jixing, a famous Chinese paper historian, who, at that time, was teaching at a university in Philadelphia. Dr. Pan very kindly outlined for me five major centers of hand papermaking, but warned me that permission to visit these places might be quite difficult to arrange. We had extraordinary experiences in China. We saw outstanding displays of papermaking history in museums. We found art shops selling lovely handmade papers for painting and calligraphy. In the marketplaces I bought all kinds of low-grade handmade papers used for sanitary purposes and for burning in funeral services. At shops selling hardware I discovered incredible handmade papers used as insulation for houses and coverings for windows. The sellers sometimes told us the general location where the paper was made, but those areas were either too distant or closed to foreigners. We tried to get proper permission to visit the places that Dr. Pan had mentioned. Often we waited in an office for hours to speak to the right official. In the end, the replies were always negative. Finally, we took matters into our own hands. Along a country road in Anhui province we stopped at a group of shops. I found handmade paper in one shop, and the friendly owner told us that the paper was made at the nearby Tian Fang commune. She even drew a map to pinpoint it. It became quite an adventure. We reached the commune, introduced ourselves to the leader, who allowed us to see their small papermaking enterprise and photograph it. The papermakers were proud of their Hollander beater, powered by a generator. In a small, unlit room we saw a worker making bamboo paper. His mould consisted of a wood frame with large handles on each side and a detachable screen on top. He formed the sheets by dipping the mould into the pulp, and couched the papers on top of each other with no interleaving material. While we watched a woman brushing the pressed sheets onto a hot, vertical surface, we were suddenly asked to leave. Apparently, someone had reported that foreigners were visiting the commune. On our way back to the main road, we were apprehended by the "People's Police" and required to follow their car to a hotel in Jingxian, the nearest city, where we were detained for many hours while the officials tried to decide how to handle the matter. Meanwhile, we noticed that the toilet paper in the bathroom was the bamboo paper made at the commune. We were accused of two crimes, namely, visiting a commune without official permission and photographing state production. At that time everything produced in China was considered state production. Our punishment was confiscation of the film in our cameras and admission of our crimes by signing a confession. We were certainly guilty, but I felt no remorse. Happily, the officials did not find a roll of film that I had concealed in my handbag. Full details of this adventure, better called a "misadventure" will be published in a forthcoming book.3 At the end of 1982 Sidney and I were off again to Asia for a new set of experiences in countries that were not as restrictive as China had been. Looking back, it is unbelievable that we went to all of these places with no prior arrangements and very little knowledge of what we might find there. This time our expedition took us to Sikkim, Bhutan, Burma, and Thailand. We located traditional papermaking in every place. The travel was exhilarating. We did not anticipate that we would become thoroughly The Tian Fang commune's Hollander beater, powered by a generator. Otherwise, there was no electricity at the commune. Photo: Sidney Koretsky, 1982. Papermaking at the Tian Fang commune. Photo: Sidney Koretsky, 1982. winter 2007 - 15 a layer of woven screening, the type sold at hardware stores. To form a sheet, the papermaker made one quick dip of the mould into the pulp, let the water drain a bit, and then placed the mould with its sheet of paper in the sun to dry. These Thais had combined elements of both the pouring and dipping techniques of papermaking. By this time, my research in traditional papermaking had shown me that although there were just two basic ways to form a sheet of paper—either by dipping a mould into pulp or by pouring the pulp onto the mould—there were endless variations of these methods. I set up a protocol for my documentation, whereby I would record a set of information about each papermaking area, as follows: 1. Location (village, county, province, country); 2. Date(s) of visit; 3. History of papermaking in area; 4. Name and address of papermaker(s) documented; 5. Fibers used (common name, local name, botanical name, source); 6. Preparation of fiber (cutting, retting agent, duration of soak, size of bundle); 7. Cooking; 8. Beating; 9. Additives in beating process; 10. Additives to beaten pulp; 11. Sheet formation (with description of mould); 12. Couching; 13. Pressing; 14. Separation of sheets; 15. Drying of paper; 16. Amount of production; 17. Use(s) of paper; 18. Other notes. Whenever I set out to seek papermakers, I carry a set of documentation sheets, with the pre-printed eighteen protocol points listed above, and ample space for the answers. In the excitement of finding a papermaking village under difficult circumstances, not to mention problems with translation, it is easy to forget to ask certain questions. These documentation sheets serve as a valuable reminder. Another essential element of research is photographic documentation. My husband has been in charge of photography, always carrying two 35 mm cameras, plus an 8 mm silent movie camera that was eventually replaced by a camcorder. The movie and digital films have proven extraordinarily familiar with the Himalayan roads and often non-roads in at least ten expeditions in the Tibet, Yunnan, and Sichuan provinces of China during the ensuing years. Despite the threat of storms, landslides, snow, and rain, I realized my goal of documenting old papermaking in many remote villages where foreigners had rarely traveled. The papermaking I documented in 1982 was extraordinary. In Sikkim we found papermakers near Rumtek Monastery, who used the pouring technique to make paper for the printing of Buddhist sutras. In Bhutan I learned that traditional Bhutanese paper was made in the same way that we had witnessed in Sikkim. However, the Bhutanese government had started a school to "modernize" papermaking, by introducing the nagashizuki method. In Burma the papermakers used the pouring technique, but the whole process was extraordinary, unlike anything I had seen in the past or would see in any other place in the future. The papermakers in Mandalay were making a special bamboo paper to be used as a substrate in the beating of gold leaf. In this process, thin bamboo strips were soaked in lime for five years, then hand beaten for fifteen days, further beaten in a mortar with a heavy wooden pestle, and finally given additional beating using a stag horn. The beating resulted in a pulp that drained so slowly that it took nearly fifteen minutes to form a single sheet. After drying the sheets on the mould, the papermakers cut the finished sheets into squares and burnished them on a convex brass plate, using wood sticks. The result was a strong, translucent sheet of paper that could withstand seventy sessions of three-hour beating.4 In Thailand, we went immediately to Chiang Mai, following up on the lead we obtained in 1976. A very helpful taxi driver took us to the city's outskirts where we noticed papermakers who were working outdoors. We stopped at one place to document a young couple making very large sheets of paper from mulberry fiber. They used a simple, flat wood frame on which was attached Thai papermaker is removing the dried sheet from the mould. No couching or pressing was necessary. Photo: Sidney Koretsky, 1983. Thai papermakers in Chiang Mai are making a very large sheet of paper. Photo: Sidney Koretsky, 1983. 16 - hand papermaking important, particularly in the documentation of sheet formation which involves subtle movements. Also invaluable is the fact that I have been making paper by hand for years. Therefore, I am able to understand and record the nuances of all the papermaking processes. In addition to my questioning of the papermakers, I usually try to make a sheet of paper myself. Sometimes I succeed; other times I fail miserably, making me better comprehend the subtleties of forming a sheet in a given set of circumstances. In Tonga I sat with the women in the village beating mulberry fiber into bark paper. I managed to form a cohesive sheet, but the women could beat three sheets in the time it took me to produce only one. My experience in Bangsom, Thailand was a disaster. The papermaker loaned me a sarong to wear, and I walked right into the slimy klong (canal) to emulate the process that I had carefully watched. But I discovered klongs have a current. I had to hold the mould to keep it from floating away, while at the same time holding a basket and a ball of pulp. Also, my sarong was ballooning out and I tried to restrain it. I managed to put the ball of pulp in the basket, filled it with klong water and dispersed the pulp. I poured the pulp over the mould and tried in vain to disperse it evenly on the mould. I even tried the technique of pouring a basket of water over the mould, as I had seen the papermaker had done. It was a total failure. When I emerged from the water with the mould, I noticed the papermaker and her sister sitting on the bank of the klong bursting with laughter. Making paper in a klong takes a lot of practice. My field research, therefore, has been based on my own observations of papermakers, my experiences as a practicing papermaker, and skepticism. Moreover, I have often returned to the same papermaking villages to record processes that I may have missed previously. Papermaking is a lengthy operation, entailing many steps, some of which may not be in progress during a single visit. Although these other steps may be described to me, I firmly believe in seeing them in person. I am appalled when I find accounts of papermaking processes that are simply not true. In fact, I have started to list all the erroneous information about papermaking that I have observed either in written or oral form. For instance, Kiyofusa Narita, the original director of the Oji Paper Museum in Tokyo, wrote in A Life of Ts'ai Lung and Japanese Papermaking that the beaten fibers of "old fishnets or kozo, would not form a sheet until another ingredient was used to adhere the fibers together."5 In the next sentence he mentioned use of an unknown mucilaginous substance to achieve success. Apparently, Mr. Narita never experimented with forming sheets of paper. Another misconception about this "mucilaginous substance," which the Japanese call neri, is that it allows newly formed sheets of paper to be couched onto each other without any interleaving material. At a papermaking conference in Ibaraki, Japan, in 1989, a Japanese scientist gave a very technical and convincing analysis of why that happens. In China, however, I documented hand papermaking at dozens of villages where all kinds of paper were made without benefit of neri or any other additive. Nevertheless, hundreds of sheets were couched on top of each other, with no problem of separation after pressing. I firmly believe that research on the process of papermaking should be based on one's own thorough knowledge of the subject, yet approached with an open mind. Perseverance is essential, especially in the case of research in foreign countries, where translation can be erroneous. Many guides have neither knowledge nor interest in papermaking, and the travel and living conditions may be extremely difficult, but in the end it is all worthwhile. In conclusion, I want to emphasize that in addition to the actual field research and its thorough documentation, the dissemination and preservation of the collected data is essential. In Bangsom, a suburb of Bangkok, Thailand, Suvalee Inchukul makes paper in the klong. Photo: Sidney Koretsky, 1986. The author unsuccessfully attempts to make a sheet of paper in the klong in Bangsom. Photo: Sidney Koretsky, 1986. winter 2007 - 17 I have accomplished this in several ways, including teaching and lecturing throughout the world; publication of seven books and over fifty articles in journals, magazines, and newsletters; and production of twelve documentary films that vividly portray the techniques of traditional hand papermaking. For preservation purposes, I have established a nonprofit foundation, the Research Institute of Paper History & Technology in Brookline, Massachusetts, which contains more than 3,000 books, tools, artifacts, and handmade papers. Rotating exhibits of the collection are held at the Institute's Museum of International Paper History. The collection is available for study by interested persons. ___________ notes 1. John Mason, Papermaking as an Artistic Craft (Leicester, England: Twelve by Eight Press, 1963), 13–23. 2. Editor's Note: In this article, Japanese names are given in this order: given name followed by family name. 3. Elaine Koretsky, Killing Green—An Account of Hand Papermaking in China (Ann Arbor: The Legacy Press, forthcoming). 4. Elaine Koretsky and Donna Koretsky, The Goldbeaters of Mandalay—An Account of Papermaking in Burma (Brookline, MA: Carriage House Press, 1991). 5. Kiyofusa Narita, A Life of Ts'ai Lung and Japanese Papermaking (Tokyo: Dainihon Press, 1966), 11. Seikichiro Goto's handmade book with a katazome cover. Collection Research Institute of Paper History & Technology, Brookline, Massachusetts. A partial view of the current exhibition at the Museum of International Paper History at the Research Institute of Paper History & Technology in Brookline, Massachusetts. Photo: Elaine Koretsky, 2007.