On top my computer desk, every morning - that smile.
Meet Turtle, of the Blackfeet Tribe, photographed in the 1950s, in Wyoming.
Saw this card on Ebay and that smile got to me.
When down days come, sometimes a single, simple image can pick you up again.
Turtle, some little happy folk dancers, a tiny Buddha or miniature rhino - personal
brick-a-brack that say stay on track, no matter what. What floats the boat.
But this is new: The ink shelf, housing 4 blacks, 2 browns, 1 red, 1 blue-black, 1 Prussian blue, 1 Veridian, 1 India ink, and 3 especially designed inks for the rapidograph.
I've become interested in ink wells lately, their shape and size and style. I began to develop a preference. My old Shaeffer, Parker Quink, and Pelikan bottles, while of interest to many collectors, didn't especially grab me esthetically. This one, however, did:
I've become interested in ink wells lately, their shape and size and style. I began to develop a preference. My old Shaeffer, Parker Quink, and Pelikan bottles, while of interest to many collectors, didn't especially grab me esthetically. This one, however, did:
I loved its size and shape and simplicity. It was intended, or so the thrift shop keeper told me, for serving compote, those little fruit-in-sugar syrup desserts. I got 8 of them, still in their original package, for a mere $2.00. They were destined, however, not for compote, but for my inks.
I felt a bit guilty not labeling which was which--for example, which was a Parker, which a Pelikan and which a Shaeffer, as if the emptied bottles would be offended if I didn't. Now the inks all sit next to one another, unidentified--even as to color--and it's hard to tell now which is black or blue or brown. I have to open it up and dip my pen inside to test it out. What was I thinking?! (I know which is which by how they're placed on the shelves. Of course if someone comes along and mixes them up - well, let's not go there. The deed is done, as they say.)
I love that they're all together, each in its own special place, each of equal importance. The inks are no longer scattered, in some desk drawer, the closet, or an old shoebox from 10 years ago, waiting to fill the fountain pen, a supply that will last a lifetime, and several beyond. But then I discovered sketch doodling and gathered them all together, began seeking certain new colors, and the nibs to try them out with. The desktop, alas, has not been the same since.
Turtle smiles from the upper corner.
