24 June 2010

Reflexiones

Tengo pendiente una entrada sobre la nueva colección de tintas de la compañía Sailor. Está casi escrita, apenas faltan un par de detalles, pero su publicación me plantea ciertas dudas.

Es ésta una bitácora sobre una afición –el coleccionismo de plumas estilográficas— que está íntimamente relacionada con una serie de empresas que producen esos objetos de deseo. Por consiguiente, el aspecto publicitario de estos textos es inevitable.

Hablo aquí, y en foros de estos asuntos, de objetos cuya venta en nada nos beneficia salvo, tal vez, de forma muy indirecta. Y sin quererlo pasamos a formar parte de los mecanismos comerciales de esas empresas.

Es cierto que nuestra general falta de intereses económicos en esas empresas nos hace a aforados y autores de bitácoras más independientes. Nada, en principio, nos impide hablar mal de tal o cual producto, pero incluso un comentario negativo es también positivo: “¡que hablen de mí, aunque sea mal!”

Algunas de las tintas ya viejas de Sailor.

Publicaré mi texto sobre las tintas Sailor y miraré para otro lado. Hablaré de plumas que se fabrican hoy en día –ya lo hice— y mencionaré explícitamente al fabricante. Añadiré fotos hechas por mí y cerraré los ojos. Después de todo, nadie me obligó a iniciar esta andadura.

Pero no puedo evitar la sensación de que trabajo gratis para alguien que no siempre se lo merece. Por ejemplo, para Sailor en un momento en el que ha decidido subir el precio de sus tintas un 66% en Japón.

(Platinum Preppy 0.5 – Platinum Carbon Ink)

Bruno Taut
(Inagi, 23 de junio de 2010)
[labels: estilofilia, metabitácora, tinta, Sailor, mercado]

22 June 2010

Craftsman

Last Sunday (June 20th), the monthly Wagner association Pen Clinic took place. As in previous occasions, lots of magnificent fountain pens gathered in there, together with their happy owners.

Today’s report will focus only on one pen: Mr. Yamada’s tuned Pelikan M800. On a first look, it appears to be a regular green stripped M800 with a BB nib.

It writes very smoothly, and is very wet. But that is usually the case with these Birds and, more particularly, with thick nibs.

But if looked sideways to the nib, things start to change:

The nib is, say, two-folded.

Mr. Yamada is an expert in tuning nibs in order to make them to perform in new ways. Most of his creations have the purpose of making them a lot more flexible. He drills holes here and there weakening the structure of the nib.

Junior 14 K gold Sailor nib with two drills on the sides to increase the flexibility. Note also the enlargement of the breathing hole to add more ink flow (by letting air in) to cope with the increased demand of ink.

This time, he opted for making a very broad nib with a big flux to cope with that big demand of ink.

Sure enough, this nib reminds of those wonderful creations by Sailor nibmeister Mr. Nagahara.

The next Wagner Pen Clinic will be celebrated on July 25th, Sunday, at the usual venue.

(Soennecken 110 – Waterman Florida Blue)

Bruno Taut
(Inagi, June 21, 2010)
[labels: Pelikan, plumín, evento, Sailor, Tokyo]

19 June 2010

Origins

Some weeks ago there was a somehow bitter discussion on the Fountain Pen Network (FPN) about the American company Danitrio.

It all started with what I thought was an innocent question: why do people think Danitrio is a Japanese company when it is based in California and uses German nibs, save the 24K gold Yokozuna nib made in Japan? The only real Japanese element on those pens seems to be the envelope, the art on the barrel and cap. That is truly made in Japan by Japanese craftsmen.

Many different opinions were expressed: Some followers of the thread were honestly surprised by this revelation. One of them even spoke of a possible “willful sin of omission”. Another group argued that looking Japanese and having Japanese-made ornament was enough to consider this brand Japanese, or that being American or Japanese was irrelevant. A third group noted that outsourcing was a general phenomenon and, therefore, the German origin of the nibs is not powerful enough argument to claim Danitrio was not Japanese.

Some unpleasant comments and ad-hominem (non-)arguments were also shared on the thread, proving how passionate some people might be when touching sensitive spots.

I never thought this was a sensitive topic, though. In fact, my question was based on my surprise. People on the FPN spoke of Danitrio as a Japanese pen company, but I had never seen such a brand in Japan. Not in shops, not owned by anyone. Actually, I saw my first Danitrio at the Madrid Pen Show in 2009. After that, I have only seen those pens at the Itoya Maki-e Fair celebrated in Tokyo last May, as it was already reported on these Chronicles. And on this occasion I learned about their California origin and about the main source of their nibs.

Danitrio urushi pens at the Itoya Maki-e Fair in Tokyo last May. Picture courtesy of Moskva.

All those responses to the thread I initiated pose, however, some interesting questions:

The first is fairly obvious: How do we ascribe one company to one country? Is Parker American, English, French? Is Waterman American or French?

Is the origin of the nibs a faithful indicator of the origin of the pen? Is the location of the headquarters or the origin of the investment the final argument?

The case of pens, for a pen enthusiast, is different from other products. Some claim that there are specific characteristics associated to certain countries of origin. If that were true, the question is relevant.

A second question is about why an American-based pen company disguises itself as Japanese. Some claim Danitrio never hided its Californian origin, but the overall perception among pen enthusiasts is that Danitrio was Japanese.

On my criticism to Danitrio on the FPN, I also added that it was hard to consider seriously a pen company that chooses not to say anything about its nibs when describing the pen. Most companies describe the size and materials of them as well as their type of writing—fine, medium, stub, oblique, etc. Danitrio does not say anything on this matter on its corporate website (as of June 2010).

So, my final reflection on Danitrio is that this company is more interested in creating a symbol of status than a fountain pen; a jewel over a tool. And I like tools.

(Nakaya Aka-tamenuri – Platinum Brown)

Bruno Taut
(Inagi, June 15th, 2010)
[labels: Danitrio, FPN, estilofilia, Japón]

PS: On June 12 (2010), the partisan moderator and active discussant “winedoc” closed the thread. Therefore, no more opinions on the matter could be added. In doing this, the thread will slowly sink into the sea of other active discussions. This was the final point to make me write this text. I do hope not to write about this company in a long while.

14 June 2010

Shibui

Para Kendo-san, ignoto japanófilo.

Japan, as many a country, has a profusion of faces despite its often monolithic façade. Some of them are two aesthetic traditions that deserve the attention of any visitor—and of any pen enthusiast.


On one hand, we encounter the beauty of simple things and empty spaces. And concepts as shibui, or wabi-sabi can be found to describe and explain this tradition. Wabi-sabi 侘寂— refers to two different ideas: the beauty of imperfection (wabi), and the beauty that comes with age (sabi). This term is also related to the Buddhist principles of the three marks of existence: imperfection, impermanence, and incompleteness; and for some authors, wabi-sabi is the material representation of Zen Buddhism.

The word shibui (渋い), literally astringent, is the everyday word to reflect the wabi-sabi beauty of simple and elegant attitudes. “Severely simple, tastefully bare”, the dictionary says of shibui. Tanizaki’s In Praise of Shadows (陰翳礼讃, Inei Raisan, 1933) is a passionate, even if reactionary and nostalgic, chant to shibui life and aesthetics.


There are many cultural traditions in Japan that embraced this aesthetic way of thinking, many of them with a direct influence of Zen Buddhism: tea ceremony (chadô or sadô
; 茶道), theater (能楽), ikebana (生け花), Japanese pottery… And, of course, gardens and palaces: Ryôan-ji stone garden, Katsura Rikyu in Kyoto…

Shokintei tea house at Katsura Villa (Katsura Rikyu) in Kyoto (mid 17th century).

On the other end of the spectrum we find the idea of hade, 派手. Where shibui is subtle and subdued, restrained, hade is flashy and ostentatious. Hade asks for attention. If theater is shibui, kabuki is kabuku and hade—loud, flashy. But hade is not without rules and patterns. Kabuki theater, for instance, or the all-female Takarazuka Company, have very defined codes and symbolisms.


Yômei-mon, Sunlight Gate, in Nikko (early 17th century).

Needless to say, flashiness can be easily pushed beyond the limits of good taste. Then we reach the realm of yabo (野暮) or, in slang,
kebai (ケバイ). These words refer to tacky things, corny at times, loud and unrefined.

So, what about pens? What about Japanese pens?


Simplifying things, I thought that urushi –lacquer--, truly falls in the simple shibui sophistication. At least, when using the traditional colors—subdued, dark, tone down.
Then, maki-e would mostly fall in the area of hade. Certainly a lot flashier than urushi; colorful more often than not, albeit not without exceptions such as some examples of chinkin technique, and some simple patterns on pens.

The problem –you all could see this coming— arises when the hade maki-e becomes yabo and we have to endure polar bears on pen barrels. Of course, it is up to each of us to decide where the threshold between hade, and kebai lies. Personally, I rather to kabuki.

(Platinum Silver Cap Pocket Pen – Platinum Brown)

Bruno Taut
(Shinjuku, June 11, 2010)
[labels: Japón, estética]

11 June 2010

Madrid Monogatari

Para los otaku de la Myu en Madrid.

Supe de la Pilot Myu 701 una vez hube llegado a Japón. En aquel momento me interesaban las plumas, pero no constituían la obsesión que es ahora.


Esa pluma estuvo en mi bolsillo durante mucho tiempo, aunque no era mi única pluma. Tanto me gustaba –y tanto me gusta aun hoy— que en uno de mis viajes a Madrid llevé otra Myu para regalar a un viejo amigo, a Merino-san. Y creo que le gustó, porque pasados lo años todavía la usa.

La pluma llamó la atención a compañeros y paseantes. Uno de ellos, de nombre Kinno-san, decidió que necesitaba una Myu y ni corto ni perezoso compró dos en la Red a pesar de los precios fuera de toda medida de los tratantes habituales. La otra era para el cuarto mosquetero: Kendo-san.


Kinno-san y yo nos conocimos, meses más tarde, en Tokyo. Y, claro, nos fuimos a comprar plumas por esta ciudad. Recuerdo que se llevó varias Pilot M-90 en el bolsillo. En el museo de Pilot en Kyobashi, Kinno-san se quejaba de que aun sin conocerlo yo le había tocado las narices con aquella Myu que le regalé a Merino-san.


Mi siguiente paso fue un cambio de residencia a Madrid. Y allí, al abrigo de visitas a tiendas, de reuniones para probar tintas y plumas, de visitas al Pen Show de Madrid… realimentamos nuestra pasión por las plumas, no sólo por la Myu y por las plumas japonesas.

Ahora estoy de vuelta en Japón. Disfruto de la actividad estilográfica de Tokyo al tiempo que me esfuerzo por mantener el contacto con estilófilos de aquí y allá. Y aguardo con impaciencia la visita de algún miembro del grupo de otaku de la Myu de Madrid.


Las distancias, sin embargo, son muy obstinadas.

(Platinum Preppy 0.5 – Platinum Carbon Ink)

Bruno Taut
(Inagi, Junio de 2010)
[labels: Madrid, Tokyo, Pilot, estilofilia]

07 June 2010

Fate

To Ningyo-chan, decipherer.

Spanish schools do not deal with fountain pens. And that is it. I mean, they do not require, as is the case in other countries, children to learn to write with them. And calligraphy is often deemed as obsolete.

In that environment it is not strange that my handwriting ended up messy, ugly, illegible. And I did not care. In fact, I never liked the endless repetition of patterns of the meager efforts my teacher paid to improve my hand.

Now, many years have passed and fountain pens have become an obsession to me. And then I learn about pens, modern and old; about materials, from caseine to steel to titanium; and also about nibs, rigid needles or flexible noodles. In learning to love these wonderful flexible pens I had to understand, oh, cruel irony, the beauty of good penmanship for, after all, that is the raison d’être of those nibs.

So, at my age I feel bound to learn to write again, gracefully this time, if I wanted to fully enjoy some of my pens.

Is this fate?

In the meantime, we can enjoy the works of Prof. Antonios Zavaliangos and of Leigh Reyes.


Sailor Ballerie (WG pocket pen) – Pelikan Brilliant Brown

Bruno Taut
(Inagi, April 30, 2010)
[labels: caligrafía, estilofilia, plumín]

03 June 2010

Gold Fever

Some days ago I wrote about Danitrio and the utter absurdity of using 24 K gold (pure gold within a 1% error) for their nibs. That made me think about the actual gold content of nibs.

The purpose of using gold lies in its properties as a noble metal, i.e. its great resistance to corrosion. And the rest of properties are second to that. In fact, as Prof. Antonios Zavaliangos (Drexel University, Philadelphia, USA) says, flexible nibs can be made out of almost any material usually employed in the fabrication of nibs.

Japanese pocket pens from the 1970s with differnt nib materials. From top to bottom, left to right, Platinum with fine steel nib, Pilot Myu 701 with fine steel, Morison with fine 14 K, Platinum with medium 14 K, Pilot Telescopic with medium 14 K, Platinum with medium white gold (WG) 18 K, Sailor with fine WG 18 K, Pilot Elite with fine 18 K, Sailor 21 with fine 21 K, and Sailor 23 with 23 K gold nib.

The actual gold content in nibs, we all know, is very variable. Some early nibs, on dip pens many of them, had as little as 9 K (37.5%). Sheaffer itself made a 9 K gold nib in 1955 for the British market. However, some legislation forced this content up in order to being allowed the use of the term "gold" to describe those nibs. Italy and France are very clear: 75% of gold content (18 K) is the minimum in anything called gold. Marketing and the old “more is better” were successful and even nowadays people speak of the “added value” of 18 K over 14 K gold on their nibs.

A relatively inexpensive Fit de Bayard with a 18 K (ct, in french) gold nib. Very nicely springy.

During the early 1970s, the big three Japanese pen companies competed for the market by increasing the gold content in their nibs. Platinum and Pilot reached 22 K (91.7%); Sailor topped them with a 23 K (95.8%) nib, as can be seen on the picture. The trend was a dead end and in three years the companies went back to the usual 14 K and 18 K gold contents. The exception was Sailor, still using 21 K gold in many of its luxury pens together with 14 K gold for cheaper ones. Their argument is still the same—higher corrosion resistance with higher gold content.

California-based Danitrio seems to be the only brand still suffering the gold fever. Only that could explain their interest in producing –or implementing, as they do not manufacture theirs— 100% gold nibs. But that much gold makes the nib quite soft and prone to plastic deformation. The option to avoid that risk is to make them very rigid. However, there is always the concern of whether those Danitrios were pens or mere decorative jewels.

Already mentioned Prof. Antonios Zavaliangos also wrote a very interesting analysis on the materials usually employed to manufacture nibs. The summary of all that is that 14 K gold shows a nice balance between resistance to corrosion, elasticity, ease of manufacturing, etc. It is no coincidence that most of the flexible nibs out there are made of this alloy with 58.5% of gold.

Now the question lies in whether we want or appreciate a flexible nib or not. But that topic is a long one, and almost philosophic.

(Soennecken 110 – Noodler’s Old Dutch)

Bruno Taut
(Tokyo, June 2, 2010)
[labels: Danitrio, plumín, Pilot, Sailor, Platinum, Bayard, Morison]