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I picked these materials because something about them caught my eye, the colours, the texture, how they felt in my hands. The wool was soft, the foil shiny, the tissue so light. I didn’t know what I was going to do with them, but they just felt right to bring.

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Soft, sharp, crumpled, scattered — paper answered in sound.

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I started to realise what the readings meant when they said, “a material is known not by what it is but by what it does” (Pacini-Ketchabaw et al., 2016, p. 29). These sounds weren’t just reactions , they were responses. The more I listened, the more I felt the paper doing its own thing, pulling me in. “Materials are always already on their way to becoming something else” (Pacini-Ketchabaw et al., 2016, p. 31). I think I just finally noticed.

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"Materials are not passive… they surprise, resist, and move us” (Pacini-Ketchabaw et al., 2016, p. 20).

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I dropped four papers from the stairs, newspaper, tissue, coated green, and confetti. The newspaper fell straight down. The green paper floated, then wrapped around the railing. Tissue drifted for a moment. But the confetti stayed in the air the longest, spinning before landing.

It reminded me that materials don’t always wait for us. As Pacini-Ketchabaw et al. (2016) say, they can “invite and provoke” (Pacini-Ketchabaw et al., 2016, p. 20). I wasn’t doing much, just watching how each paper moved in its own way.

It made me think of Malaguzzi’s hundred languages, how movement, weight, and pause are ways of expression too (Pucci,2025). The paper wasn’t just falling. It was responding.

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It floated, clung, tickled, paused, stayed

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The confetti didn’t just fall, it played back. It drifted in the air, swirled around me, landed on my hair, my sweater. I kept throwing it, again and again, because it felt like it had its own rhythm. Like Eli with the paper at the glass door, I wasn’t really in control,the material was (Pacini-Ketchabaw et al., 2016). It made me stop, smile, and do it all over again.

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It paused before falling, like it had something to say.

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It paused before falling, like it had something to say.

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The wet paper stuck to my hand, holding on before it let go. That moment reminded me of Kale and Grayson, who tangled themselves in strips of paper and moved with it slowly (Pacini-Ketchabaw et al., 2016). The paper didn’t rush, it chose its time.

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I slipped one envelope inside the other. It felt quiet, but not empty, like it was keeping something just for me. Kaseman (2015) talks about how materials can hold memory, even in silence. And as Pacini-Ketchabaw, Kind, and Kocher (2016) explain, materials respond in their own way, sometimes not through movement, but through stillness and relation.

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The first cut was smooth, but then the paper began to move and shift. I had to adjust my hands and follow what it was doing. Like Pacini-Ketchabaw et al. (2016) explain, materials respond through motion, not just shape. It reminded me that cutting wasn’t just an action. it was a conversation between me, the tool, and the paper (Pacini-Ketchabaw, Kind, & Kocher, 2016; Pucci,2020)

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I thought adding more paper would help, but it just made wrapping harder.

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I thought adding more paper would help, but it just made wrapping harder.

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I was curious what would happen if I made the paper longer, could I wrap it like fabric? I taped a few sheets together, but it didn’t work how I imagined. It was stiff, rough, and wouldn’t stay on my body. Pacini-Ketchabaw et al. (2016) explain that materials don’t always match our plans, they respond in their own way. This one reminded me that paper isn’t fabric, no matter how much I add (Pacini-Ketchabaw, Kind, & Kocher, 2016; Edwards et al., 2012).

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I gave the roll a small push, and it chose its own pace. It moved step by step, then stopped where the stairs ended like it understood space. As Pacini-Ketchabaw et al. (2016) say, materials respond through relation. It wasn’t just rolling it was thinking with the stairs (Pacini-Ketchabaw et al., 2016, p. 20).

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It tangled, then flew depending on how I moved

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It tangled, then flew depending on how I moved

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At first, the paper and wool dragged behind me. When I turned, it caught around my legs. But when I moved with more force and lifted my hand, it began to float with the air. Like Pacini-Ketchabaw et al. (2016) say, materials move in relation to bodies and space. It didn’t just follow, it reacted to every shift I made (Pacini-Ketchabaw, Kind, & Kocher, 2016).

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I poked the newspaper with a brush. The first one gave way, but the others resisted, I had to press differently each time. As Pacini-Ketchabaw et al. (2016) explain, materials respond in motion and pressure. It wasn’t just poking, it was noticing what the paper wanted in that moment (Pacini-Ketchabaw, Kind, & Kocher, 2016).

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I thought I was in control.

But the paper pushed back.

It tore when I asked it to bend,

it floated when I needed it still.

I wrapped it around me,

not to cover, but to feel.

I poked, I pulled, I rolled

and it answered in silence, in sound, in resistance.

The material didn’t follow me.

It made me stop.

It made me think.

It made me let go.