For readers who are following along on my milkweed journey, you may recall that the milkweed stalks were stripped, dried, weighed, and then stored away in Oct 2023. I usually close up my papermaking studio in October, so by the time I had finished processing all of the milkweed, I wasn't able to actually use it for papermaking right away. For months I would occasionally glance longingly (more like guiltily) at the pile of milkweed fibers, wondering if and when I would ever get to it, like so many other piles lying around in my studio, gathering dust.
2024 has been a year full of transition, grief, soul searching, care giving, pausing, waiting. The crisis and the aftermath. The dropping of everything, the hyper vigilant mode, and then the slow rebuilding and picking up of the pieces. All summer long I continued to neglect the piles around my studio, all summer long they sat there patiently. There is an urgency to process the fresh milkweed stalks right after harvest, to work quickly and preferably in community, to get it all stripped and dried out before it spoils. But then there is a generously long period when the fibers are stored away, unbothered by the passage of time, comfortable in their dried state and in no hurry yet ready and patiently waiting.
If there is anything I've learned this summer from working with milkweed, and life in general, it is - milkweed is the gift that keeps on giving. And: if something is meant to be, it will happen in its own time, when it needs to happen. And: when life places a gift in your path, you move in that direction towards wherever you are most fully aware of the gift, the gift of being alive to the gift.
On Friday, the kiddos and I worked on sorting the dried stalks into two piles: Pile 1 was “too far gone so not going to touch it” (lots of black spots) and Pile 2 was “somewhat clean, just requires a light scrape to get it to very clean.” I then soaked both piles overnight.
On Saturday, Esme came over to help scrape the milkweed stalks in Pile 2. I had initially intended to scrape them all, but forgot that everything takes 3x longer than expected. I decided to scrape as much as I could and ended up adding whatever I didn’t get to to Pile 1. I cooked each pile separately in soda ash (15%) for 2-3 hours - I actually forgot about them on the stove and worried that I had overcooked them. But it turned out to be just fine.
Pile 1 (unscraped bast) at the top, Pile 2 (scraped bast) at the bottom
The next day (Sunday) I hosted several Korean diasporic artists who came up from the Bay Area, along with Michelle, a dear papermaking friend. I was eager to share space with these souls, eager to witness together the milkweed transformation with fellow makers. Jane and Meesha arrived first and spent the morning picking out large bits of plant matter from the milkweed fluff. Dust masks were necessary:
More friends arrived, and we took turns hand-beating the cooked stalk fiber:
Then we loaded up the Hollander beater with the fluff. We didn't pre-soak the fluff, and it was about 1lb total, so in retrospect - I don't think the fluff was properly beaten at all, though I did somehow manage to lower the roll and have the fluff circulate for about 5 minutes. More on this later...
Then we set up for papermaking: a few small vats to make fluff paper, scraped bast paper, and unscraped bast paper, using the tiny baby sugetas. At another table, Michelle masterfully pulled larger sheets of ssangbal hanji (aka nagashizuki-style washi) out of the fluff fiber, which we had in abundance. And a third table had a deckle box, where Jane experimented with mixing fluff and bast fibers together in a single sheet.
It all was quite experimental and low key, no expectations of mastery, just an openness to learning and helping and being together. I appreciated the conversations around "Korean American art" - what makes something "truly Korean" or "Korean enough". We are, all of us KA artists in the diaspora, grappling with this in some way, I believe. I think about this a lot with my own work, knowing that so much of what I make and who I am would not really be understood or accepted in Korea or among first generation or conservative Korean circles. I keep coming back to this talk that my KAAC friends Jeff and Rochelle gave, about inhabiting the edge of the diaspora, and all of the unexpected joy and creative potential and community that exists in that marginal space. More and more I realize that there is power in claiming that which was passed down to me by my ancestors, despite the unlikely form that it becomes through me. Somehow the milkweed draws me closer to these truths that I know, I can recognize that the milkweed was a gift from my ancestors, telling me to keep going.
Pressed sheets of milkweed samples, drying on a board
In the next installment of the milkweed adventures, I'll share more about the initial milkweed paper tests, the subsequent adjustments that I made, along with the dreamy experience of forming the milkweed bast fiber into webal hanji sheets.
I want to pause to give thanks to Julia at Hedgerow Farms, Esme the friend who connected us, all of the friends who came to help process the milkweed, Aimee Lee for writing and publishing the invaluable milkweed zine, Velma for the milkweed chapbook and ongoing encouragement, Jenna B for the samples and enthusiasm, Radha and other papermaking friends who provided tips along the way, ACTA for the support through a Living Cultures grant which allows me to do this work and share it with others.