I made it last year with the kindergarten class. The classroom had procured a basic papermaking mould and deckle and the students learned how old paper is recycled into new paper...by actually doing it. It was messy (There is a lot of water involved. And a blender. You do the math.) and the kids were less than thrilled about the tedious task of meticulously tearing up our old, discarded paper into tiny shreds. They let me know, vocally and dramatically, how much they did not enjoy this part of the making.
It took a very long time to make a piece of paper. Between the tearing, the blending, the sifting, the lifting, and the drying, a piece of paper took about 24 hours to make. Every 15 minutes or so as the school day went on, each child would come ask me in rotation whether or not the paper was dry. The agony of waiting was even more torturous than the agony of making.
But 24 hours later, when the papers were dry, something amazing happened. Each child took their paper and painted on it. They did this of their own accord; the paper was theirs to use as they wished. They painted for days on a single piece of paper. If you've never worked with young children before, this might not seem so amazing, but for a young child to voluntarily toil away at a single project for more than a 20 minutes, much less more than a day, implies a level of maturity and focus which is very rarely found in a 5-year old.
After that papermaking day, I noticed that they took more care with all of their drawings, that they took more care with their paper, that they took more care with their work and their crafts in general. A piece of paper was no longer a disposable resource; every piece of paper represented hours of work and patience, and it deserved to be treated with due respect.
I could have saved myself a lot of mess and trouble. I could have made a piece of paper and described the process, shown them videos, and let them touch my homemade paper. I doubt the effect would be even fractionally as profound; something transformative happens to a maker when they make a thing. When you make your own food, your own clothes, your own art, your own furniture--you cherish it. You grow better because of the making. It is a part of you and you are a part of it. In a world where we outsource so much--there is nothing you can't find that isn't already made--why bother? Why spend 24 hours to make a single piece of paper when I can buy a ream at the local office supply store for five bucks?
Because. Because that piece of paper is a miracle. Just as you and I, with our opposable thumbs and our imaginations and our ability to make and grow and become greater than what we were yesterday, are miracles. And when we make, we take part in something greater than ourselves.
So go make something. Make a drawing. Make a hamburger. Make music. Make a friend. Make a garden. Make a cocktail. Make a fool of yourself on the dance floor. Make a poem. Make someone laugh. Make money. Make a sweater. Make a smoothie. It really doesn't matter what you make, just make. Because, when you make something, you partake in the magic. You are part of a sacred, elite, and inclusive group of people who perform miracles. You become one of the Makers, one of the Creators, and that is the closest a human being can come to the divine.
