Another Nod to Sepia Ink

Possible that I may finally have found a sepia ink that I can use comfortably on more than just rare occasions. Sepia is a difficult shade of ink, and there are limitations to how far true sepia can be stretched. Different makers have various ideas about what it should look like. Compare Montblanc and Hakase to see different notions of the color. I wrote something about these two sepia inks in a blog post last January 7 called, “Legacy of the Cuttlefish.” At that time I wrote of finding little satisfaction in either the Montblanc or the Hakase sepia, the first too red, the second too pale. Though we associate the color sepia with brown, perhaps an antique brown, the basis of the color is the black we see in the ink of the cuttlefish. It was from this that the first sepia ink was made.

This morning someone gave me a bottle of Athena Sepia ink made by the Japanese stationer, Maruzen. The whole package is antique, to the extent that even the writing on the bottle is read in the old fashioned Japanese style, from right to left. The bottle’s shape is evocative of the 1920s, and the light green box is printed in a way that gives it the appearance of an old patent medicine from grandmother’s day. Receiving the gift, I was immediately impressed by the box and bottle, seeing a connection between presentation and the antiquity of sepia ink. I hurried home eager to give the Athena Sepia a trial.

Removing the cap and looking down into the bottle you get the feeling that it is a rich shade. Somehow it doesn’t have the watery look of other sepia inks. My first experiment was with a Q-tip, and that verified the richness. I then chose a Sailor 1911 Large fountain pen with a 21k ‘M’ nib, and after washing it well, filled it with the Athena Sepia. From the first words on the page I was pleased with the color, and wondered right off if the Iroshizuku blenders at Pilot had meditated upon this Athena sepia in the formulation of their Yama-guri brown. Because that’s what the Athena Sepia is close to, and it is the older ink. They are remarkably close.

In the Sailor 1911, the flow of ink is smooth, and looking closely at the samples, perhaps you will notice the nice shading it produces. Saturation is excellent. I tried it on two different kinds of paper and had good results on both. First I put a Q-tip smear and some lines on a sheet of 100% cotton based Crane stationery; satisfaction all around. No feathering, no bleed through, and not long in drying time. Next I tried a page of thick quality Japanese paper from an old journal. In this case, too I was pleased with the ink’s performance. No feathering, but a very slight bleed through, maybe not enough to count.

No question that from here on out, when the sepia mood strikes me, it’s Athena Sepia ink from Maruzen that will color my pen’s nib.

The Hakase Impulse

For some of us there comes a time when impulse tramples reason, and we buy a fountain pen that every ounce of logic and common sense tells us we can’t afford, shouldn’t buy, and should put from our mind. But there are times when passion rules over the cold hard center of reason. After all, isn’t the enthusiasm and zeal for something, be it ancient coins, old jukeboxes or vintage pens, the very heat that powers our appetite for such things? Sure, we can be cool and calm and remain reasonable ninety-five percent of the time, but once in a blue moon we need to let loose our fascination with something and let impulse take over.

And thus I let myself be driven by impulse and bought a fountain pen I couldn’t afford.

In 1934, Sadao Yamamoto founded a company in Japan’s western prefecture of Tottori, with the idea of making and handcrafting high quality fountain pens. Over the years the company has remained in the rather remote area of Tottori, and gathered its customers through word of mouth, as well as pen shows and clinics held in the larger cities of Japan. Eventually, the Internet made the company’s fountain pens available to a much larger customer base.

The company is Mannenhitsu Hakase, and rather than attempting to put the two Japanese words in a clever title, it is perhaps better to simply say that mannenhitsu means fountain pen, and hakase is a word referring to ‘doctorate’ or ‘doctor.’ Unfortunately, the Hakase website is all in Japanese, without any English hints. However, there is an interesting YouTube video to see at this site.

I ordered the fountain pen shown in the photos above when Hakase came to Tokyo for a pen show. Patience is required if you are interested in having one of their custom made pens. I ordered mine over eighteen months ago, and then waited ten months for delivery, which came by mail from Tottori Prefecture. The Hakase website now gives a waiting time of twenty-six months! The cost of a pen will vary depending on the specifics of what you want in the pen. The one in the photos here was $1,680.00, just about enough to send me over the deep end.

SPECIFICATIONS:

Body of the pen is made of rosewood.

The pocket clip and ring on the cap are beaten gold.

Length of the pen capped: 14.4cm (5.67in)

Length of the pen posted: 16cm (6.30in)

Weight of the pen, with ink: 30g (slightly over 1oz)

Nib: 14k gold, length 2.4cm (0.9in), size BB

Ink system: Uses a Pilot converter or cartridges

Owner specific serial number engraved on the barrel of the pen

After receiving the fountain pen from Hakase, as I often do with new pens, I took it to Nobuhiko Moriyama at his shop Fullhalter, to have the nib ground a little more to my liking. That extra bit of work on the nib meant I wouldn’t have to break the pen in over a period of weeks. I have tried four different brands of ink in the pen, and each of them flows smoothly across the page, leaving a generous line of ink. Those four brands are: Montblanc, Pelikan, Pilot’s Iroshizuku and Hakase.

I am still feeling the pinch of paying the price to have this pen, but really I have not the least regret, and feel the excitement and passion of this special treasure each time I pick it up.

A Bevy of Browns

The season is turning in Tokyo, with evidence here and there in the natural colors around us. Leaves have almost completed their metamorphosis from brilliant summer green to the sere brown of winter, with many fallen and scattered on walks and pathways, or blowing along streets in cold susurrous whispers. The trunks of trees seem dryer now, hoarding their last stores of sap for the coming cold, and along the banks of the nearby Kanda River cattails tilt in bent postures, dried and brown.

There are still hints and remnants among the branches of autumn orange, of darkening gold and deepening hues, but to these eyes brown is daily becoming the dominant color. Could it be the reason for an infatuation with brown inks? For one not too fond of cold weather, the approach of winter is, in that sense a somber business, and may turn the head toward filling pages with warm, woody brown inks.

In an earlier post I talked a little about Iroshizuku Yama-guri, with mention of it’s brother ink, Tsukushi. This time — and partly for my own desire to see them aligned — I’ve put a splash of six different brown inks on a page. No critical, or review-like comments this time, but merely a side by side comparison of different shades. I’m going to fudge it a little by confining the browns to swatches, with the names and makers in a blackish favorite from De Atramentis, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. So, take a close look at all that brown and wrap yourself in the imagined warmth of wood, bark and thistle.

From top to bottom, left to right…

Sailor - Capricorn (special blend)

Hakase - Sepia

Iroshizuku - Tsukushi (Horsetail)

De Atramentis - William Shakespeare

De Atramentis - Ludwig van Beethoven

De Atramentis - Julius Caesar

On another note…

With regard to yesterday’s post featuring the Yama-guri ink, a question arose about my choice of the Pelikan Souverän 600 for showing off the ink. Was there a particular reason for choosing that pen? Apart from it being one of my earliest pens, with a B sized nib specially ground to my liking, I chose it because it handles all ink well, because it allows me to write without concentrating on the pen and what it’s doing. Kind of like being wrapped up in a story unaware of the mechanics. And I suppose that’s why I picked up the Pelikan 600 to show off the Iroshizuku Yama-guri.

In the southeast of Tokyo there is a tiny pen shop called, Fullhalter. The shop is owned by Nobuhiko Moriyama, who crafts fountain pens to fit the needs or idiosyncrasies of individual customers. Mr Moriyama worked for Montblanc for many years before opening his shop and turning his focus to Pelikan. Two of my three Pelikans, and the one Pilot pen in my collection were shaped especially to my way of writing by Mr Moriyama. None of the Fullhalter pens have ever failed to delight me, filled with whatever shade or maker of ink I choose. I often regret that my Souverän 1000 is one straight from stock and unshaped by the skills of Mr Moriyama. Certainly a fine pen, but one degree less without the Moriyama touch.

The photo above is a look at Nobuhiko Moriyama (left) in his tiny pen shop, Fullhalter.