I’m not a traditional papermaker, though I can work that way. My practice lives somewhere else — in the space between papermaking and painting, between material and meaning.

Pulp painting is often misunderstood. People assume I’ve painted on top of the paper. I haven’t. I’m painting with the paper itself — using wet pulp as my medium, applied directly to handmade sheets or to fabric. The pulp is the mark.

Painting on silk organza with paper pulp is at the center of what makes my practice unusual. Few artists work this way. The pulp settles into the weave of the silk, becoming part of it rather than sitting on top of it. The translucency of the organza and the texture of the pulp create something neither material could do alone. This is what I mean when I say materials talk to each other — I’m listening for what happens when two unlikely things meet.

The process is slow and unpredictable. Pulp dries differently depending on humidity, temperature, the weight of the fabric, the thickness of the application. I can’t fully control it, and I’ve stopped trying. The material has opinions. My job is to pay attention.

This is why making and meaning are inseparable in my work. The time it takes, the physical involvement of my body, the uncertainty of outcome — these aren’t incidental to the work. They are the work.