Printmaking has been the foundation of my artistic practice throughout my career. I have always been drawn to its many forms — drawing, painting, collage, photography and digital processes — most often working on paper. Paper, in all its variations, has long been my primary support and material.
While exploring chine collé in my prints, using washi, I became aware of the extraordinary strength and resilience of its fibers. Where Western papers would often tear or dissolve under my handling, washi proved forgiving and durable, remaining intact even when curled, stretched or run repeatedly through the press. This discovery set something in motion. I began to experiment intuitively — burning, tearing, folding, dipping — only later realizing that many of these gestures were closely related to Eastern techniques and crafts, some of them carrying centuries-old names and traditions.
I decided to go to the source. I wanted to understand washi more deeply, and in March 2018 I was invited as a visiting artist to Awagami Paper Factory in Japan. It felt like a revelation. I have never looked back.
Looking back even further, I realize that this journey began long before. In 1984, while studying at the Slade School of Art in London (UCL), I saw an exhibition that stayed with me: David Hockney’s Paper Pools, shown at the Crafts Council Gallery. I had never seen anything like it, and I could not understand how the works were made. This was before the internet — information was scarce — but the experience planted a deep urge to explore paper as a medium.
In 1991, while working as a professor at the Bergen College of Arts and Design (now KMD, University of Bergen), I attended the Paper & Book Intensive (PBI) in the USA, held on an island outside Seattle. For the first time, I was able to make my own sheets of paper. It was a transformative experience. Returning to Bergen, I established a paper studio at the college, complete with a Hollander beater imported from the USA — an initiative that left a lasting mark on both my teaching and my students’ work.
At Awagami in 2018, I found myself working side by side with master artisans. I arrived with an ambitious plan: to create at least fifty works during my month-long stay. Day by day, I challenged myself, drawing on everything I had learned over the years. When the four weeks came to an end and I found myself in a taxi on the way to the train station, all I wanted was to turn back and return to the factory as soon as possible.
Back in Bergen, I set up an outdoor, deckled papermaking studio, assisted by a Japanese-American artist who had also worked at Awagami and was then studying at RISD. There, I continued to explore new possibilities, before returning to Awagami in 2019 to scale up my experiments.
By then, I was deeply immersed — not only in fibers and pulp painting, but in Japan itself: the culture, the people, and the generosity that surrounded the work. I pushed myself to work larger, building images layer by layer. In 2020, I returned to produce large-scale works for two commissioned school projects in Norway. Then came the pandemic. The situation was uncertain, but I managed to complete most of the work before the final flight home. I admit, I briefly entertained the thought of being stranded in Japan, in my paper paradise — but the commissions had to be finished and delivered.
Back in my own studio, I continued exploring paper through plant fibers and recycled materials. Finally, in 2024, I packed my bags once more and returned to Awagami. Thinking back on that journey to Shikoku still brings a wide smile to my face. This time, I shared the experience with another artist and colleague — my son, Bendik Prestegard Vatne. Experiencing this place together was a profound joy.
During my stay as visiting artist at Awagami Factory, Japan, Awagami made a film about my process and approach.
AWAGAMI Factory - visiting artist Elly Prestegard
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While exploring chine collé in my prints, using washi, I became aware of the extraordinary strength and resilience of its fibers. Where Western papers would often tear or dissolve under my handling, washi proved forgiving and durable, remaining intact even when curled, stretched or run repeatedly through the press. This discovery set something in motion. I began to experiment intuitively — burning, tearing, folding, dipping — only later realizing that many of these gestures were closely related to Eastern techniques and crafts, some of them carrying centuries-old names and traditions.
I decided to go to the source. I wanted to understand washi more deeply, and in March 2018 I was invited as a visiting artist to Awagami Paper Factory in Japan. It felt like a revelation. I have never looked back.
Looking back even further, I realize that this journey began long before. In 1984, while studying at the Slade School of Art in London (UCL), I saw an exhibition that stayed with me: David Hockney’s Paper Pools, shown at the Crafts Council Gallery. I had never seen anything like it, and I could not understand how the works were made. This was before the internet — information was scarce — but the experience planted a deep urge to explore paper as a medium.
In 1991, while working as a professor at the Bergen College of Arts and Design (now KMD, University of Bergen), I attended the Paper & Book Intensive (PBI) in the USA, held on an island outside Seattle. For the first time, I was able to make my own sheets of paper. It was a transformative experience. Returning to Bergen, I established a paper studio at the college, complete with a Hollander beater imported from the USA — an initiative that left a lasting mark on both my teaching and my students’ work.
At Awagami in 2018, I found myself working side by side with master artisans. I arrived with an ambitious plan: to create at least fifty works during my month-long stay. Day by day, I challenged myself, drawing on everything I had learned over the years. When the four weeks came to an end and I found myself in a taxi on the way to the train station, all I wanted was to turn back and return to the factory as soon as possible.
Back in Bergen, I set up an outdoor, deckled papermaking studio, assisted by a Japanese-American artist who had also worked at Awagami and was then studying at RISD. There, I continued to explore new possibilities, before returning to Awagami in 2019 to scale up my experiments.
By then, I was deeply immersed — not only in fibers and pulp painting, but in Japan itself: the culture, the people, and the generosity that surrounded the work. I pushed myself to work larger, building images layer by layer. In 2020, I returned to produce large-scale works for two commissioned school projects in Norway. Then came the pandemic. The situation was uncertain, but I managed to complete most of the work before the final flight home. I admit, I briefly entertained the thought of being stranded in Japan, in my paper paradise — but the commissions had to be finished and delivered.
Back in my own studio, I continued exploring paper through plant fibers and recycled materials. Finally, in 2024, I packed my bags once more and returned to Awagami. Thinking back on that journey to Shikoku still brings a wide smile to my face. This time, I shared the experience with another artist and colleague — my son, Bendik Prestegard Vatne. Experiencing this place together was a profound joy.
During my stay as visiting artist at Awagami Factory, Japan, Awagami made a film about my process and approach.
AWAGAMI Factory - visiting artist Elly Prestegard
Homepage
Blog
