Forgotten Ink

For those with a passion—some call it a malady—for the collecting of inks, the hobby has in some ways blown itself out of proportion. What does that mean exactly? It is by no means a dart fired at the makers of fountain pen ink, for they are only following customer demand and produce exactly what the market will allow. Rather, the numbers of available colors in bottled ink have gotten unwieldy for the collector and consequently outstanding shades of ink get lost in the shuffle. There was a time I could look at an ink and recognize the name at only a glance. As the reds and greens and blues multiplied, the browns proliferated, the purples mushroomed and the oranges snowballed, that sort of quick-read identification has become near impossible for anyone but the person who mixed the individual inks, and even they might be fooled on occasion. Most of us now have stacked on shelves inks of exquisite color that lay forgotten behind the heaped bottles of newer mixes.

Say hello again to one of the forgotten. Rummaging through the bottles accumulated on shelves and drawers here, I came upon one from the Caran d’Ache Colours of the Earth series, a red called Sunset. Don’t ask me to count through the different bottles of red ink on those shelves and in those drawers; anybody with a level head wouldn’t hesitate to say, “Too many! You’ll never use all that.” Quite true, but as stated above, a malady is involved. I have so much red ink that the beautiful Sunset ink from Caran d’Ache got lost in the jumble.

Let me paraphrase what this Swiss company says about its line of nine different inks…

Caran d’Ache has drawn on its expertise and mastery of colour to offer lovers of handwriting a collection of inks in nine original tints. These nine inks offer the natural colours of the earth in a rich assortment ranging from sombre to tender to vivacious. The colours are an inspiration, expressing a mood, adding an emotional dimension to words, or marking a special moment—each colour finding its own nuance, with pen playing in perfect harmony.

There is very little exaggerated hype in this product copy. Most of us who collect fountain pen inks would quickly admit that the copywriter has hit the nail on the head in appealing to a customer base. For a look at the nine different tints in the Colours of the Earth series, click here.

Back to the forgotten ink, Sunset. The maker suggests in a further note of copy that the writer ‘Sympathize in Sunset.’ It sounds good, but that particular verb does not come to mind when I look at a sample of Sunset red, or when I see a written passage in this color. I might be more tempted to say something like, ‘Celebrate in Sunset,’ but the next person might also have another idea. There is for sure a good bit of ‘sunset’ in the color, but look at it long enough and several more associations will come to mind. A little of the tropical, of the Hawaiian Punch or the romantic, seasonal, and I can’t help adding, lipstick. Anyone telling you it is a totally unique shade of ink is pretty much out of the loop. A quick comparison reveals that Iroshizuku Momiji, Diamine Classic Red and J Herbin Rouge Bourgogne each come close to the Caran d’Ache Sunset. But that shouldn’t take anything away from the specialness of Sunset.

The sample page of quotes here was written using a Montblanc Generation with a 14 carat medium nib. Just as the copy says, the pen works in perfect harmony with the Caran d’Ache ink, writing smoothly without skips, spits or drag. A short sample of handwriting it is, but looking back at longer pages written in other notebooks with the same ink and the same pen show a smooth flowing curl of ink unwinding prettily down the page. On the downside—though perhaps not for all users—Sunset is a slow drying ink. On a separate page of tests, in writing single characters there was no difference in dryness between three seconds and fifteen. A short phrase of five words required a full minute to dry thoroughly, but then a dryer nib may produce a shorter drying time.

From Red to Red

In writing to a friend recently I chose to use a custom mixed ink from Osamu Ishimaru at Sailor, an ink first called ‘Dried Persimmon’ but later changed (by me) to 'Blood Orange.’ (The second name seemed more fitting.) Some days later, in a reply to my letter, my friend commented that the Blood Orange ink looked very much like the new Rouge Hematite 1670 ink from J Herbin. I am usually sensitive to ink colors, and quick to note similarities in different inks. I have a bottle of the Herbin 1670, have used it frequently, but still had not noticed its closeness to the older Sailor ink I call Blood Orange. Suppose it was a case of not using the two inks back to back, or maybe I just wasn’t paying attention. But I did notice the likeness of the two colors immediately upon reading my friend’s comment.

I can’t remember exactly when it was that Mr Ishimaru mixed the Blood Orange for me, but I think it was sometime in 2008 at a pen fair in Tokyo’s Maruzen Department Store. I have old journals with a good many pages in the Blood Orange ink, but it hasn’t been in my ink rotation in recent months.

A comparison might be of interest to some, so that’s what you see here. Apart from Q-tips and brushes, the two fountain pens used in the photo sample are: Sailor Naginata with a medium nib for the Herbin 1670 (left), and Lamy 2000 medium nib for the Sailor ink (right). The paper used is Vélin Blanc Clairefontaine Triomphe, 90g. The Sailor is slightly darker than the Herbin, perhaps with a dollop more black. The Herbin has a pleasing brightness that the Sailor Blood Orange lacks, but at the same time, the shading is better in the Blood Orange. Saturation appears to be in favor of the Rouge Hematite. The two inks have a similar drying time; I tested each after a ten second wait. Neither of the inks is waterproof, but if I had to write in the rain I would opt for the Blood Orange. Under water, the Herbin loses all character, all that distinguishes it from ordinary red ink, while the Sailor turns purple, though manages to hold the letter shapes.

For those who might be interested in buying the Sailor ink, you will need to give Sailor and Mr Ishimaru the following blend number: 070112059. Most likely in Mr Ishimaru’s records, the color is identified as ‘hoshi-gaki’ (Dried Persimmon).

Blood, Dirt & Sunlight

Received the order from writersbloc.com yesterday, the Exacompta journal and the J. Herbin Rouge Hematite. After opening the box I put ink and journal on the table to look at throughout the day. The Herbin ink is a magnificent presentation and the box is an example of smart and classy antique design, lovely to look at and admire. But the Exacompta journal has its charms as well and doesn’t hide in the ink’s shadow. The leatherette cover is a striking red orange described as mandarin. While the first day may have been for just looking, today was hands on.

They call it Rouge Hematite. The first part presents no problem, but the hematite part is a little deeper. Hematite is a mineral which can be red brown, and is important in iron. It gives the ink that rusty terracotta look, sort of like a mix of blood, red earth and sunshine, and reminds one of Cormac McCarthy’s landscape in Blood Meridian. Let me get right to it and say that the color of this new ink is a stroke of genius by the J. Herbin ink blenders. The Rouge Hematite is a knockout, and joins with pen and paper to produce near perfection.

For testing the ink I settled on a Sailor Naginata, with a 21k M nib. I rarely have any doubts about this pen and knew it would serve well with the new Herbin red. For paper, I naturally chose the Exacompta journal with its Clairefontaine paper. This was my very first experience with Clairefontaine, and I'm happy about finally trying this top quality paper. The Sailor, the Herbin and the Clairefontaine interact well together. I wanted to try the ink out over several continuous pages, so I opened the Faber-Castell journal and wrote two full pages, front and back. It was there that the Rouge Hematite showed its full potential. Beautiful shading. I didn’t really test the ink for drying time, but the impression was favorable. I’m certain this ink will become one of my regular inks, and I’d have been smart to order two bottles.

But then I’m glad I didn’t order two bottles because I would rather wait for the bottle make-over, due in June according to Quo Vadis. First of all, the sealing wax looks great, but it quickly loses its luster when it begins crumbling around the mouth of the bottle’s very small opening. And what was the thought behind choosing the cheap, easily damaged aluminum top? I was immediately reminded of the cap used by soft drink makers. As I said, the presentation is good, but once you get into the box, it’s all downhill until your pen touches the ink. Hopefully, you won’t get sealing wax in the ink, and hopefully your fountain pen is slim enough to fit down into the bottle.

Overall, my opinion echoes the wording on the box enclosure, ‘…it will bring majesty to your writing.’ Rouge Hematite is five-star ink, little doubt of that.

As for the Exacompta journal, I will wait a while before making too many comments, On the surface, I love the mandarin color, but wish the journal were a little larger. The Clairefontaine paper is good. But it wouldn’t be fair of me to say more at a time when I’ve only written one small page in the journal.

Noodler’s Rattler Red

Noodler’s Ink seems to enjoy favor among many pen and ink enthusiasts in the US. A large number of blogs, as well as posts on the Fountain Pen Network offer reviews, comments or opinions about this American made ink. True, not all reviews and comments are one hundred percent complimentary, but enough of them are to make this one of the more popular inks among American enthusiasts. Some might jump on this statement as not completely accurate, but I can only base my assumptions on what I read, which admittedly is a moderate amount considering the number of pen and ink blogs out there.

My personal experience with Noodler’s has been limited to only two colors: Cayenne and Rattler Red, the red being the subject of this review. Tokyo is a very big city, one with a good number of pen shops, large stationery stores, and other stores that specialize in ink. Despite that, I have found Noodler’s Ink in only one store in metropolitan Tokyo, Shosaikan in the Aoyama district. I first bought a bottle of the Cayenne, but didn’t get much chance to use the ink, because for reasons unknown, the ink became corrupted within two or three weeks of sitting on my ink shelves. The original gorgeous dark and spicy orange turned to a horrible gray orange. My next try was one from the American Eel series, Rattler Red. For those unfamiliar with American Eel, it is a lubricating ink that Noodler’s began producing in 2005. I was especially taken with the color, which impressed me as an unusual red in a world where red inks are if nothing else, bountiful. Not counting the Noodler’s, I have thirteen other red inks on the shelves behind me, so a striking or unusual red will catch my eye. And that was the case with the Rattler Red.

It has not proven itself to be a completely satisfactory ink in my experience. The flow is not what I like, and the richness does not hold from the start of a line to the end. It also has a long drying time, a problem if you don’t like smears. I have filled out a review form and put it here, and overall my comments are not altogether favorable. It’s a pretty color, but…

Turning away from ink and Noodler’s for a few lines, I got something from an old friend in my hometown today, an article announcing the closing after 76 years of a somewhat famous stationery store downtown. Wonderful article, I thought, and so decided to tack it on to today’s post. Like me, I believe many others will have some understanding of what the writer is saying.

Store stood for a long tradition

Every Monday, members of the Press Club of Baton Rouge gather at a downtown meeting hall to hear some newsmaker discuss affairs of the day. But two doors down, at Latil Stationery Co., a quieter piece of news has slowly been unfolding: After 76 years, the store that loyal customers know as Latil’s is closing on Dec. 31.

That might not seem like big news in the scheme of things; every day, across the world, businesses close their doors. But Latil’s exit also seems to diminish, by one more degree, the older and more genteel form of expression that its pens and paper came to represent.

I first came to know Latil’s as a young reporter, when my newspaper office was a few blocks over from Latil’s longtime Third Street location. For much of the day, hunched over a newsroom keyboard, I filed stories for a daily audience of readers. But during occasional lunch hours at Latil’s, I’d find what I needed for more intimate writing — the blank journal for the odd thought, a box of stationery for handwritten letters, a nice, new pen to scribble what I wished.

The journals I bought at Latil’s and filled each year now rest on a shelf, and no lock is needed to protect the private musings inside. My handwriting is so bad that no one else could fathom the passages, anyway.

Some of what I scrawled ended up as essays or stories for newspapers, magazines, or a book. But in crossing from the personal to the public, I was always aware of a line being crossed, and the boundary was easy to see. The division between my public writing life and my private writing life was as clear as the blocks that separated my office from the stationery shop.

But in typing those three words just now, “private writing life,” I’m reminded of just how quaint the concept has become. When my teenage daughter reveals what’s on her mind, it’s not in a letter or a diary, but on a Facebook page intended for multiple readers.

And in this age of blogs and Twitter, what might have once gone into a personal journal is typically a post for the world to see.

Everyone in our family, uses e-mail, of course, and I couldn’t think of doing without it. But e-mails, even those exchanged between close friends, don’t have the same aura of intimacy as a handwritten note; that “forward” button on the computer encourages disclosure, not discretion. A handwritten note can be passed around too, but postal mail carries a strong tradition of restraint, a powerful promise of secrecy.

Yet in an age when people sell their private lives to reality shows, and the Internet routinely makes publicity from the personal, whether anyone really wants secrecy anymore is an open question.

What I’m trying to describe, I suppose, is a code of conduct, a tradition, that has always made a box of stationery or a journal a little bit more than a piece of merchandise on a shelf.

Latil’s was a part of that tradition, and I’m sorry to see it go.

From The Advocate, Baton Rouge, Louisiana • November 27

by Advocate staff writer Danny Heitman