I ordered mulberry paper, which I hope is 100% Kozo, from China—the very same fibre known as Kozo in Japan and Hanji in Korea. Here is something incredibly grounding about knowing that the very same plant fibre I will be rubbing and massaging with water and muscle power has kept ancient ecosystems and crafts thriving for thousands of years. In my research about this plant, I learned that I will be working with a material derived from a tree that simultaneously feeds silkworms, protects soils from erosion, heals wounds, and provides fruit. It really is a giving plant! I love the idea of seeing this as a human-plant collaboration.

I read somewhere that kozo never forgets that it was once a tree—I want exactly this kind of dialogue with the materials I work with.

Looking at Japanese Washi (specifically Kozo Washi), it seems to prioritise cleanliness, consistency, and a beautiful parallel grain. The sheet-making method involves shaking the liquid pulp back and forth in a single direction.

I intend to explore the magical Korean technique of Joomchi and turn this stiff paper into a soft, fabric-like sheet. I also looked into Momigami, where it seems kozo paper is traditionally treated with starch, coated, and then repeatedly crumbled, rolled, and kneaded in the hands until it feels like soft suede or linen.

Korean Hanji takes an entirely different approach. While making Hanji, the artisan shakes the pulp mould front-to-back and side-to-side (Oebal-tteugi). This forces the long mulberry fibres to weave together in a chaotic, multi-directional “hashtag” (井) pattern. It has no grain, and it is the toughest of the three.  Essentially, joomchi is very similar to the process of wet-felting wool. Simple layers of kozo-fibre washi and water are processed by rolling, beating and kneading until the fibre from all layers of paper becomes interlocked. The result is a thickened, toughened, but still-malleable washi. Historically, some items of clothing in Korea were made from joomchi, but now it is primarily artists who use this technique to great creative effect.

Contemporary Hanji artists don’t just paint on the surface; they push into it. They use Joomchi to sculpt massive, heavily wrinkled 3D wall installations, pierce them, stitch them, and tear them to expose the furry, wild edges of the mulberry fibres. It is uniquely suited for physical aggression and tactile manipulation.

The Artistic Application is Joomchi (paper felting), Jiho (paper-mache sculpting), Jiseung (twisting paper into rugged baskets/furniture), and relief texturing. Because Hanji has unrivalled structural integrity and no single grain line, Korean artists treat it more like textiles, leather, or clay than flat stationery. I understand that historically, it was so tough that it was layered to make lightweight battle armour (Ji-gap) that could deflect arrows! After learning how this material behaves, I hope to sculpt with it. Kozo has an incredible “memory.” If you dampen raw kozo bark or heavy kozo paper, you can mould it over objects, inflate it, or stretch it into three-dimensional shapes. As it dries, it stiffens and retains the shape perfectly, making it incredible for hollow vessels.

I am particularly interested in exploring Joomchi’s paper-to-textile transformations. Joomchi (the traditional Korean art of paper felting) will help me create the textured and/or stitched, or embedded with plant material, vessel that I envision making. With Joomchi, I won’t use any glue; instead, the microscopic fibres in the kozo break free under agitation and entangle with the fibres of the sheet laid over them. I have never done wool felting, but it seems to follow a very similar philosophy. The paper is wetted and agitated so I can sandwich plant materials between the layers, “felting” them together using just water and muscle. The plants become permanently trapped inside a single, thick, leather-like textile sheet.

Since I am waiting for my 100% kozo paper to arrive, I am using this time to prepare my workspace, gather tools, and understand the physical mechanics of the process.

To do Joomchi at home, will need a few basic studio tools:

  • A Bubble Wrap Sheet or Bamboo Sushi Mat: This acts as your textured friction surface to help break open the fibers. A piece of bubble wrap about 2 feet square is perfect.
  • A Rolling Pin or a Thick Wooden Dowel: You will be wrapping the paper around this to roll it.
  • Old Nylons, Cheesecloth, or Mesh Netting: Used to wrap the wet paper bundle tightly so it doesn’t fall apart during the initial rolling phase.
  • A Spray Bottle: Filled with plain, warm water (warm water relaxes the fibers faster than cold).
  • A Large Towel: To catch excess water.

Explorations on 1 July 2026

As I am awaiting the Kozo paper, I will explore the Monigami process and get to feel comfortable with the paper I have available in my studio. I might try layering some of the samples. I am working with small pieces of paper as the first exploration in the hope of learning and creating some samples. I have some coconut oil my friend and fibre artist, Annette Holtkamp, left here last year during our Residency.

The papers I have are:

  • clean and dry Teabags
  • Xuan paper,
  • Brown craft paper
  • Butcher paper, circular pieces I have made tree ring prints on earlier

Here are the lessons learned:

I need to master the “Corner Fold” in order to stop tearing when I am kneading weaker papers (like your remaining Xuan or craft paper scraps). I soon learned that the edges are always the first parts to split and tear. It seems better to do it before I add oil or start crumpling. I fold all four corners neatly into the centre (like starting a paper fortune teller). Then, fold the new outer edges inward slightly.  Crumple the paper with the edges protected inside the ball. This prevents the perimeter from catching and tearing. I massage it.

It soon became clear that working with these materials requires paying attention to the process – considering its vulnerabilities and possibilities. From the research I did into Momigami, I need to focus on the materials; I have to listen to it, feel it, and have a conversation with the material.

LEARNING: I do something, the material responds, and so it goes. I do think I should spend more time on this process.

The brown craft paper gave a deep texture. The coconut oil has completely saturated it, turning it that rich, dark brown and making it look like aged, oiled leather or oilcloth. I used one of the papers and rolled it onto the demin fabric of my apron. I love that it holds those micro-wrinkles and stays in a little ball shape.

The teabags are fascinating. It seems to have a lot of synthetic or abaca plant structural strength. They took the oil beautifully, darkening into organic earthy tones. They look like preserved autumn leaves or parchment.The Teabag shrank, crinkled, and held together. quite nicely.

I will call Xuan a heartbreaker for this process! It was almost instantly translucent when the oil hit it, but because it is so delicate and porous, the oil just completely floods the spaces between the short straw fibres. All three have small tears. I can see where it just gave up and tore right in the centre when I tried to massage it. The Xuan Paper tore – it lacks the long structural fibres of Kozo, and the oil lubricated the short rice straw/sandalwood fibres, causing them to slide apart under pressure. My research indicated that this might happen.

The white butcher paper features circular prints I made earlier, and I explore two methods. I used one with coconut oil and the other as a dry piece. The oil acts as a deep lubricant, allowing me to compress the paper into a tight, dense mass without it splitting easily. It did, however, make a small tear in the middle of the paper. It became more translucent, and the ink markings look softer under the oil. The dry paper retained its bright opacity, making the black ink marks pop with contrast. This process relied 100% on mechanical breakdown. It took more physical muscle, but the result is more micro-wrinkles, and it reminds of an antique, crushed linen or heavy cotton rag paper. It actually expanded a bit in size, and the edges stayed beautifully intact without any tearing.

Looking at the two butcher paper samples later, I think they should be ideal for drying some slow stitching.

Since I want to embed plants later, I let the papers dry overnight. This should give the oil time to fully travel and settle deep into the cellular structure of the paper. I plan to use the brown craft paper and teabags to practice building a multi-layered sheet. This will give me a direct preview of how the Kozo will behave during Joomchi.

The plan is to start with the tea bags tomorrow

Use two open teabags (or two pieces of thin tissue/craft paper). Mist them with water (no oil yet), stack them, and try rolling them tightly in a piece of bubble wrap (or a sushi mat, which I do not have), pressing firmly. I think I have some small dried plant material to embed into the paper.

Explorations on 2 July 2026

I did the first lamination with the 3 strips of Xuan paper and embedded Wild Sage leaves. These photos were taken after a few minutes of rolling it in bubble wrap, and one can already see the fusion between the layers.

I tried another lamination with Xuan, tissue paper and teabag paper – this is longer and easier to roll around a thin dowel and bubblewrap. I think the lamination is not bad

Explorations on 3 July 2026

I created a sculptural form with folded/rolled small brown craft paper and two circular pieces of butcher paper. I regret that the design is inside the vessels. and will try to do another in that way. I learned that this traditional Korean technique of dampening strong paper and moulding it over objects to create hollow, lightweight vessels or armour is called Jiho (지호).

I think it is safe to say that these works below are an exploration in structural paper memory, using traditional Momigami texturing and Jiho moulding techniques to transform industrial utility paper into organic, sculptural vessels. The first two images were enhanced by Gemini’s AI tool.

My process for the above making

The exploration touches on the concept of “structural paper memory.” My research into this tells me that ordinary industrial paper is designed to lie flat and uniform. By violently breaking its factory structure through dry manipulation and then introducing moisture, the wood-pulp fibres are given a brand-new physical memory. As the paper dries over a mould, the natural starches and fibres relock, turning a temporary shape into a permanent, self-supporting architectural shell—without using a single drop of glue or binder.

This work sits at the intersection of Contemporary Paper Sculpting and Experimental Fiber Art.  While these specific pieces are made from everyday utility butcher paper, the mechanics are directly inspired by two historic Asian paper traditions:

Momigami (Japanese): The process of repeatedly kneading, crumpling, and texturing paper to break down its stiff “bones” until it behaves like soft leather or fabric.

Jiho (Korean): The ancient craft of moistening strong paper and molding it over three-dimensional objects to create permanent, lightweight hollow vessels.

Here is my Step-by-Step Technique for those wanting expriment with this structural memory technique, I gladly share the exact process I used for these vessels:

  • Step 1: Surface Texturing (The Dry Manipulation) I started with used butcher paper that had been printed with black ink. While completely dry, I repeatedly crumpled, rolled, and kneaded the paper in my hands. This mimics the Momigami process, micro-fracturing the ink and separating the stiff wood fibers until the paper felt completely supple, like old linen.
  • Step 2: Activating the Memory (Moisture) Instead of soaking the paper (which would make wood pulp fall apart), I lightly misted both sides of the crinkled paper circles with a spray bottle until they became completely limp and cloth-like. (Note: On one test piece, I substituted water with a rub of coconut oil to see how an oil-softened sheet drapes naturally).
  • Step 3: Sculpting Over the Mold I draped the damp, pliable paper circles individually over the bottoms of upside-down clay bowls. I allowed the excess paper to naturally gather into fluid, undulating pleats down the sides, pressing the flat bottoms firmly to establish the base.
  • Step 4: Securing the Form To force the vessels to retain a tight, structural wall rather than flaring out, I secured a tight rubber band/twine around the “neck” of the mold, trapping the pleats in place.
  • Step 5: The Cold Cure I let the vessels air-dry slowly overnight in a cool studio. As the water evaporated, the paper shrunk slightly and tightened like a drum around the glass. Once dry, they slipped off the molds as incredibly lightweight, rigid, porcelain-like shells.

This has been a fantastic proof-of-concept project using utility paper! I am currently waiting for my 100% raw Kozo paper to arrive, where I plan to take these sculptural molding principles and combine them with the traditional Korean paper-felting art of Joomchi to embed raw plant materials.

For sharing my images on social media pages, I discovered that AI has an editing tool to cleanly isolate an object and fill in the background. I used photos taken with my (old) iPhone, and Gemini did a lovely job. Below are the before and after photos.

Screenshot

20 July 2026

I want to explore this further. I am looking at artists who have explored paper and found Zhu Jinshi, an artist who started to use rice paper in his installations in the late 1980s to improve his conceptual expression and spatial morphology. Looking at the images below, it is clear that the red lines highlight the ridges and valleys of the paper. Crumpling acts like micro-folding; every crease becomes a mini-strut that gives the paper rigidity. I learned that Jinshi relied on the collective friction and structural memory to make paper hold its own weight without heavy internal supports.

Reading about Jinshi’s work shows how scaling up or clustering these forms changes how they interact with a room. I would like to consider how multiple vessels grouped, or one massive crumpled vessel, can alter the viewer’s experience of the space.

I used AI to clean the background and place the work on a grey background. I do like it.

I took one of my scroll-type rubbings, which I made with the fibres of a palm tree, and started to crumple and fold it. The first process was to roll it and then unfold; then I made a ball and rolled it between my hands.

The first folds was by rolling the work – like the scroll memory. I did this for a few minutes and unrolled.

Then I made a ball and started rolling and crumpling it between my hands as well as onto other bubble wrap. It clearly is shrinking in size and has lovely valleys in the folds.

I have the works hung next to each other on my studio wall – I think this talks about a tension and dialogue – One sheet holds the physical memory of my hands folding and compressing it, while the other holds a graphic, drawn record of texture. Do they balance each other?

Reading about: Esther Jihye Cho is a New York-based artist working across woodworking, textiles, and paper sculpture. She explores the hidden layers of memory, emotion, and secrecy by transforming them into sculptural forms. Using handmade paper and traditional Korean techniques such as jiseung and joomchi, her slow, detailed process invites reflection and care.

Adding Jido to my Joomchi technique

I read about Jido to build strength in paper. It is a traditional Korean multi-layer pasting technique. Unlike Joomchi (which relies entirely on water and the physical manipulation of fibers to felt sheets together), Jido introduces a starchy adhesive matrix over or inside a mold. Historically, craftsmen used Jido to construct rigid items like heavy sewing boxes, document trunks, and structural trays. It turns paper into a dense, lightweight, and incredibly impact-resistant laminate—essentially a historical form of carbon fiber or high-grade papier-mâché.

Because rice paste turns paper rock-hard when dry, you cannot crumple or manipulate paper using Joomchi after you have pasted multiple layers together. The paper would simply crack, tear, and delaminate.

If you want to start from scratch and achieve this exact look, this specific order must be followed:

1. Perform Joomchi First (The Texture Stage)

  • Take your individual sheets of paper (your colored layer and your background layers).
  • Wet them with pure water only—no paste yet.
  • Stack the damp sheets and begin the intensive Joomchi process: rolling, squeezing, and crumpling the sheets together in your hands.
  • This breaks down the stiff plant fibers, entangling them so they physically bond and create that beautiful, leathery, heavily wrinkled texture.
  • Let this crumpled Joomchi sheet dry completely.

2. Apply Print or Art

  • Lay your newly textured, dry Joomchi paper flat.
  • Create your prints or ink work directly onto the wrinkled surface.
  • Apply your fixative spray to seal the ink so it won’t bleed in the next step.
  • Cut your paper into your desired circular forms.

3. Build with Rice Paste Over a Mold (The Jido Stage)

  • Now introduce your cooked, thinned rice paste.
  • Place your outer textured/printed Joomchi sheet face-down into your protective cradle or over a mold.
  • Take your additional structural backing layers (which can also be pre-crumpled Xuan paper strips to match the texture) and coat them in the rice paste.
  • Press these wet, sticky backing strips firmly into the inside of your vessel shape, layering them 3 to 4 times thick.

Traditional glutinous rice starch paste (known as chapssal-pul in Korea) is incredibly strong, sticky, and historically favoured for building heavy paper crafts because it creates an even denser bond than wheat starch. Because rice starch molecules are highly compact, it dries into a tight, glossy matrix that behaves beautifully with delicate paper, giving you that desired lightweight porcelain snap.

The Rice Starch Recipe use pure glutinous rice flour (often labeled as “Sweet Rice Flour” or “Sticky Rice Flour”, easily found in Asian grocery stores, commonly in a bag with green lettering).

Materials Needed:

  • 1 tablespoon Glutinous Rice Flour
  • 1 cup Distilled Water (An 1:16 ratio works best for rice flour because it swells and absorbs water much more aggressively than wheat starch)
  • Saucer and small whisk

Step-by-Step Cooking:

  1. The Cold Slurry: In a cold saucepan, whisk the 1 tablespoon of rice flour into the 1 cup of cold distilled water until it is perfectly smooth with zero lumps.
  2. Bring to a Low Simmer: Place the pan over medium-low heat. Stir continuously, scraping the bottom and corners of the pan so the rice flour doesn’t scorch.
  3. The Translucent Shift: After a few minutes, the watery liquid will suddenly thicken and shift from a milky chalk-white to a semi-translucent, glossy, thick gel.
  4. Cook It Out: As soon as it thickens, lower the heat to low. Keep stirring for another 1 to 2 minutes until it looks shiny and begins to bubble gently.
  5. Cool Down: Remove it from the heat and let it cool completely. It will set into a thick, rubbery custard texture.

Crucial Tips for Using Rice Paste on Your Vessels

  • Thin it Down: Pure cooked rice paste is much too thick and sticky to use straight out of the pot on delicate Xuan paper. Scoop a tablespoon of the cooled paste into a small dish and add drops of warm water, whisking it until it looks like a fluid, thin lotion.
  • The “Clear Test”: To ensure it won’t leave streaks on your prints, brush a tiny smear of your thinned paste onto a scrap piece of your printed butcher or Xuan paper and let it dry. It should disappear completely, leaving no white residue. If you see a hazy white film, your paste is too thick—add a little more water.
  • Rice Paste vs. Wheat Paste: Rice paste shrinks slightly more than wheat paste as it dries. This is a huge advantage for your vessels, as it will physically “shrink-wrap” your inner structural layers tightly against the crumpled exterior, maximizing that crisp, resonant ceramic feel.

Since rice paste is a natural food product, it has no preservatives

4. Cure and Dry

  • Leave the multi-layered vessel on its support mold until it dries completely.
  • As the rice starch crystallizes inside the pre-crumpled layers, it will permanently lock that Joomchi texture into a rigid, porcelain-hard shell.

This order guarantees you get the best of both worlds: the organic, wild texture of Joomchi on the outside, and the structural rigidity of Jido on the inside.

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