On Tea-Staining Paper

There is nothing quite like ruining a perfectly good sheet of paper on purpose. I brew a pot of tea, let it go cold and bitter, and then I drown the page — because fresh white paper lies. It tells you the drawing is new. I want mine to feel exhumed.

The stain does half the work the ink can't. It pools in the cockles, darkens at the edges, and leaves those tide-lines that no brush could fake. Coffee bites harder and browner; tea is gentler, greyer. I usually use both.

The method, such as it is

Lay the paper flat. Pour. Walk away. Come back when it has dried unevenly and buckled like old vellum — that buckling is the point. Then, and only then, do I put pen to it.

A clean page is a promise. A stained one is a history.

People ask if it will last. I tell them that decay is rather the subject, so I am not too worried about it.