Learning the Art of Japanese Papermaking at West Dean College

In May I spent three inspiring days at West Dean College learning the art of traditional Japanese papermaking. The course was taught by members of the Fujimori family from the renowned Awagami Factory in Tokushima, Japan. The family have dedicated generations to preserving the centuries-old craft of making handmade washi paper, and it was a privilege to learn directly from them.

As someone whose work is crafted from paper, I have always been fascinated by the material itself. I spend countless hours cutting, folding and shaping paper into sculptures inspired by the natural world, but I wanted to understand more about the material I use and the making process behind it. My hope was that learning how paper is made would deepen my understanding of its qualities and perhaps reveal new possibilities for creating texture, strength and intricate detail within my sculptures.

Discovering the Craft of Washi Paper

Traditional Japanese papermaking is a meticulous process that has been refined over hundreds of years. Unlike Western papermaking techniques, which often use cotton rags or wood pulp from trees like pine or spruce, Japanese washi paper is traditionally made from the long inner bark fibres of plants such as kozo, mitsumata and gampi. These exceptionally long fibres give washi its remarkable combination of strength, flexibility and lightness. Historically, washi has been used for everything from calligraphy and printmaking to clothing, umbrellas and sliding screens in buildings. Learning about this rich history gave me a much greater appreciation of paper not simply as a surface to work on, but as a material with an extraordinary cultural heritage.

The traditional process involves five main stages: harvesting the plants, cooking the fibres, beating them, forming the sheets, and finally pressing and drying the finished paper. The branches are harvested during winter while the plants are dormant and steamed to loosen the bark. The outer bark is carefully peeled away by hand, leaving the inner fibres, which are then cooked in an alkaline solution to remove starches and tannins. After being thoroughly cleaned, the fibres are beaten to separate them before being mixed with water and neri—a natural thickener made from plant roots that keeps the fibres suspended evenly throughout the vat.

The paper itself is formed using a beautifully crafted bamboo mould called a suketa. The mould is dipped into the vat and rocked backwards and forwards in a rhythmic motion, allowing the fibres to interlock while the water drains away. Once formed, each sheet is stacked, pressed to remove excess water and finally brushed onto wooden drying boards or screens where it dries into finished sheets of washi. Although our course lasted three days, there wasn't enough time to prepare the fibres from scratch, so we worked with fibres that had already been processed. This allowed us to focus on preparing the vat and, most importantly, learning the delicate skill of forming the sheets themselves.

Learning Japanese Papermaking Through Practice

The most challenging part of the course was mastering the movement of the suketa. The motion looks deceptively simple, but achieving an even sheet requires the fibres to move across the whole frame as the water drains away. My first attempts were rather uneven, with fibres collecting in some places while leaving gaps in others.

Separating the freshly pressed sheets also took a bit of practice. After being stacked together under pressure, it seemed impossible that they hadn't fused into one thick piece of paper. Finding the edge of each sheet and gently peeling it away without tearing it required far more patience than I expected. Thankfully, every sheet became a little better than the last. By the end of the course I had produced a small stack of genuine handmade washi paper.

The final stage was one of the most satisfying: using large brushes to smooth each sheet onto the walls of the workshop and then carefully peeling them away once they had dried. Seeing the finished paper emerge after all that careful work gave me a completely new appreciation for every sheet I use.

How the Course Will Shape My Paper Sculpture Practice

One of the biggest lessons I brought home wasn't simply how to make paper, but how to understand it.

I've always paid close attention to the properties of paper when constructing my sculptures, choosing different papers for their flexibility, strength, texture or ability to hold fine detail. Learning how those fibres are formed and arranged has given me a much deeper understanding of why different papers behave as they do.

But perhaps the most important thing the course changed was the way I think about the material itself. Much of my work explores the stories hidden within the natural world—how landscapes, plants and memories become intertwined. Before attending the course, I thought mainly about the finished sheet of paper: what it was, how it felt to work with and what qualities it could bring to a sculpture. Now I find myself thinking about the story that begins much earlier. Every sheet starts as a living plant, rooted in a particular landscape and shaped by the people who have cultivated and transformed it over generations. I love how this history becomes quietly embedded in the finished paper which then becomes part of the sculptures story too.

That idea has already found its way into my work. Shortly after returning from West Dean, I was commissioned to create a pair of botanical paper sculptures for a couple who had recently travelled to the island of Rebun, Japan. Creating bespoke commissions often allows me to tell deeply personal stories, and this project was a particularly meaningful example. During their visit they had discovered two remarkable plants: the Rebun Edelweiss (Usuyukisō) and the Rebun Lady's Slipper Orchid, both species that are closely connected to the island's unique landscape.

As I planned the sculptures, it felt entirely fitting to use the sheets of washi paper I had made during the course. The fibres had begun their journey in Japan before being transformed into paper using traditional Japanese techniques. I then sculpted them into botanical studies of plants that grow only on one, small Japanese island. There was something wonderfully connected about that journey. The material carried with it echoes of the same country that had shaped the plants themselves, allowing the sculptures to hold another quiet layer of meaning that might never be immediately visible but is woven into them nonetheless.

Watching those handmade sheets become finished artworks was one of the most rewarding parts of the experience. It reminded me that every material carries its own story, and that by understanding where it comes from we can create work that is richer, more thoughtful and more deeply connected to the natural world. The course has also encouraged me to experiment more thoughtfully with the papers I choose for different elements of my sculptures. Rather than thinking of paper as a single material, I now see each type as having its own character, strengths and history. I'm excited to see how that understanding continues to influence my work, both in the scale of future sculptures and in the stories they are able to tell.

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