It’s a strange exercise when you simply sit down, pick up a fountain pen from many choices available, choose a specific paper to write on and are in a particular frame of mind. Above/main photograph? The ‘fountain pen parts’ diagram on the right write is very disciplined in style. The left is freedom. Italic calligraphy styles are another discipline altogether. With their own specific guidance in copying techniques. With ‘freedom’ in self expressing, writing can lead where you want it to go. Whether brushing the surface in visuals or far deeper into the experimentation of shapes and avenues. I love to just muck about on a bit of paper to allow a little time in relaxed therapy.

Realistically? There is no consistency in what is finally produced on the paper. When I was a musician and playing in various bands through various eras, the self image projection differed enormously at times. Playing rock and roll and the blues, punk, soul, New Romantics, etc meant a visual choice to suit. Still seeking an individual uniqueness in what you wear and how you moved on stage was still sought. Eyeliner and the blues were never hand in hand. Long shoulder length hair and punk weren’t either. Staple rules were there at times. 

Life’s necessity, when being a Staff Nurse, was definitely the most regimented period of an aspect to the life I found myself in. Even my writing at work in patients’ notes and writing on medication and fundamentals charts had to be neat and legible. No freedom to flounce out your lettering into fantasy land. A lower case ‘d’ that spiralled upwards however many times the nib felt euphoric in carrying on. Or an ‘F’ first top line starting right and back to ending left that gave umbrella status to the whole word that ‘Followed’. The ‘d’ at the end of ‘Followed’ having an arrow added on the end to point out the next word that followed. Strange little stories within the sentences themselves. Simply by adding a basic picture or strange imagery. Little ‘therefore’ 3 dot adages above the ‘a’ letter that can hide away within the curl of lower ‘g’ or other letter intruding it’s space from the line above. 

Please tap on the individual images to enlarge.

Writing can be an art form if you let it. Both consciously and unconsciously. Even sub-consciously. I enjoy writing simply for writing’s sake. It’s not the fountain pen aesthetic in reality. Although the pen’s performance is paramount eventually. A badly behaved gold nib that ‘splarts’ out ink blots that you have to turn into a ‘Squished spider thing-ummy-bob’ is not a consistent I often smile at. Why is it flexible gold nibs? Ink is wet and can have different wetness consistencies. But I can’t find any of them yet that like the gold flex nibs. Luckily I only have 3 of them. You have to write so that the nib tip is floating above the paper and simply brush kissing the paper’s cheek. 

Paper choice? There is a fright time involved though too. Spending out on a lovely bit of stationery and witnessing that nice and shiny first page on opening the cover. It’s not what you can or cannot write about. Anything goes in reality. It’s about putting the pen onto the paper and watching it soak up the ink with too much glee and spider crawl into illegibility. Frightful as opposed to frightening. You don’t get that with a ballpoint! Ballpoints? Actually? No comparison to a fountain pen. No adventure within their soul. Given the choice give me a frightful experience every time. After all. It’s only pen, ink on paper and a few adventurous words isn’t it?