It's Inktober all year round for me.

I found myself in the unusual and strangely wonderful position this week of being in suspended animation on every single job I'm working on. I suddenly realised I was either waiting on feedback, or for the go-ahead, and for the rest to be signed off as 'done'.

This very rarely happens. I'm usually juggling so many things there's never any actual 'gaps' - and thank goodness for that in an uncertain and unpredictable trade. But thankful offerings to the Freelance Gods aside, I've been rushing around completing as many overdue tasks as possible while I can (and believe me, there are STILL more to do - those things that are are on our lists that we just NEVER get to!)

I replaced the shower. I repaired the bath cradle. I planted the spring bulbs. I cleaned. I finished the archiving and helped clean the chimney. I brushed up a couple of website bits and bought some Christmas presents. Helped with the final cider pressing of the year, and designed and printed over 200 labels for last year's bottles. I made the candles for the winter season - 13 in total (*flavours below, if you're interested in that sort of thing). I wall-mounted the speakers that were fed up with sitting on the desk, and ordered fabric samples for the new bedroom curtain. Did a LOAD of financial stuff. Did some sewing modifications to my new gym Ts.

And I got really special nails done for the upcoming Hallowe'en party and trick-or-treating with my nephew next week.

What I ALSO did was get out all my fountain pens, take them apart, clean them, flush them through and fill them up with fresh ink, then found them a new place to live where they're all together in one spot, and slightly tilted so that the ink is always flowing the right way.

Sounds fairly routine, I know, but it was the most relaxing and indulgent thing I feel like I've done in ages that 'wasn't work but was work'. You see I have loads of pens, at last count over 700, but the fourteen fountain pens have a special place because they range from the wooden one (with matching biro) my Mum and Dad got me for my 18th birthday, to the Mont Blanc (with matching pencil) Dad let me have when he realised I would use it more than him. That one's done many book covers - in fact it drew a whole YA series in its entirety. Unlike my massive pile of fineliners or my jumbly heap of Poscas, every fountain pen has a story, and has found its way to me via a person or an event that's important to me.

As expected for a tiny ink-delivering machine based on technology that's in most cases decades old and probably hand-made, each one has its own 'voice'. Read on if you share my love of writing - and drawing! - implements; this is my collection.

This is the wooden one that was the 18th birthday present. It's never been out of used, but has no brand on it - the case is long gone. It has an iridium nib and uses cartridges - and has a sister ballpoint in exactly the same design, which lives in my bag - whichever current bag that might be. 

And just look at its exquisite nib!

Here's Dad's Mont Blanc, responsible for scribbling all those Lottie Biggs books, with its lovely golden nib. It uses a piston filling system. 

This Platignum cartridge fountain pen was cheaply made and mass produced, but I LOVE its sure-footed, nimble nib. I can really crack through acres of drawing and writing with this.

My tatty little burgundy Osmiroid 65 has a somewhat reckless golden nib that's really quite bendy, and it uses a lever system to refill.

These Platignum pens are literally bent - at some point the barrel has been subjected heat or pressure (or both) and developed a raunchy little kink. Still, they work perfectly.

The first is a nib-based pen with lever refill system.

The second was produced en masse for schools. You can replace the entire nib section, and it's filled via cartridge - cheap, convenient and less messy for educational use, while still being a couple of decades away from commonplace ballpoint and gel pens in schools. See below the tinful of replacement nibs I have for this pen and its bro 'Platignum School Pen', which also has an unruly curve! The tin of nibs and cartridges was a gift from may friend Boyd, aka Solo One, who knew from the moment his eyes met Diana's that they'd be safer and more useful in my hands than his own.

My bladder-filled Shaeffer has gold findings and a very delicate nib, which creates precise and very definition lines. Some nibs feel a little like they're going to run away from you at any moment, or feel unsure of their direction, especially if they're very flexible: this one doesn't. 

A great one for signing contracts, as it seems to really like metallic and shimmer inks.

I also love squidging the bladder, for no reason other than it feels amusing.

My olive green Esterbrook 9314M is a recent acquisition, and I made an attempt to fill it with its own colour - not quite a match, but a glittery warm green anyway. This pen has a fine calligraphic nib and a squeeze-bar refill system. It's a very satisfying write.

It was a gift from The Pen Museum in Birmingham, with whom I was working to identify some pen parts recently. 

This really heavy Shaeffer was also one of Dad's - a pen lover himself, he recently let me have it because he felt sorry for me having so few pens.

Its nib is dramatic and pointy, its barrel and lid a brushed steel - I would say aluminium sum, but it's just so weighty. And it too employs a squeeze-bar refill system.

One to choose when there's a gravitas to whatever it is you're signing, redacting or drawing.

Another paternal addition to the collection - this cheery 80s Parker is an easy choice when reaching for a fountain pen. Its relative newness means the ink flows without any mardiness, and it has a smooth, brushed metal hand grip and balled nib end - a beauty. Just flows.

This one likes cartridges.

The heaviest of them all is this massive welterweight Shaeffer. I like to have the top on the end of every pen I write with, for balance and weight (*controversial*)  - but this one is just too heavy to do that with. Employs a piston filling system.

It's virtually brand new at about 10 years old, and has a rather ornate nib - you can see how little wear this nib has seen compared to my others.

This, and the next pen, were gifts from Shaeffer during a project I took part in called 'The Library Of Lost Books'.

And all-metal, it's usually really cold to the touch!

Also relatively new, arriving about the same time, is this plastic Shaeffer calligraphy pen with clear barrel. The nibs are interchangeable and it comes with 4 options - width, angle etc. - and coloured neck sleeve.

Ink is delivered via cartridges.

This little Messenger is a stone-cold favourite, even though I feel bad saying I've got favourites.

It likes the shimmer inks, behaves impeccably and is all-metal - meaning it's another cold one!

With its fine, almost-flat nib it's reliable and eager, and it's the narrowest of the fountain pens - meaning it's delicate and cigarette-like in the hand. It's got a piston filling system.

Finally, my ladylike Parker Slimfold - a pretty embossed pattern in its top collar, and that classic golden arrow - actually gold plated - to clip it into your shirt or notebook. It possesses a lovely rounded end, like a submarine, and fine, golden, small nib. Considering the fineness of this nib, its line is surprisingly wide.

This one too enjoys a shimmer or metallic ink (not all do!) Ink is delivered via modified 'U' aerometric filler.

Here they all are, lids on and off:

and in their new, lightly-angled pen tray, fresh cartridges and a wildly exciting stash of inks ready to refill them whenever they should need it!

*Those candle flavours in full:

Bakewell Tart

Chocolate Fudge Cake

Pumpkin

Lemongrass & Ginger

Espresso Martini

The Inkvent Calendar

My latest project, released this week and already sold out at the time of writing, is this first-of-its-kind Inkvent Calendar - for pen and ink nerds like me!

This calendar has not 24 but 25, brand new shimmer, sheen and plain inks specially created for the calendar. The colours are beautiful, and VERY Christmassy, but the names are exquisite: Ho Ho Ho, Purple Bow, Midnight Hour, Polar Glow, Fire Embers, Winter Miracle, Gold Star, Gingerbread, Triple Chocolate...so much fun must have been had coming up with those!

The calendar has been two years in the making and was the brainchild of Diamine Inks, who I've worked with for many years (more on that later!) Director Christine and her nephew Phil are an inkredible (*drum roll*) couple, having taken on a company established in 1864 and taking it to the modern, mega-successful company it is today. Having designed all of their packaging since 2014, when Phil The Ink Wizard asked me to work with him on this project, I was ecstatic, even though my first thought was 'why didn't *I* think of that!'

Intended for fans of ink and fountain pens, artists and collectors the world over, the calendar was a massive investment and risky project to undertake: would it sell? who would buy it? would there be enough demand? will the inevitable price point put people off? Regardless, Phil and I ploughed on, putting all our faith in the mad ink love of scribblers and artists worldwide.

The artwork was created in ink on cartridge paper, after first being sketched out in pencil around the busy template that the manufacturers had worked out. This was a deep box, to accommodate the tiny but girthy glass bottles of ink - and the Special Thing underneath number 25. Unusually, Phil had taken the decision to introduce a 25th window, so that there was something special to open on Christmas Day. Another first!

There were a number of technical problems that needed solving both in terms of the preparation of the art (which needed to go from organic ink-on-paper to colour-separated vector-ready for a RIP machine) and the placement of numbers over windows. Not as easy as it sounds, each number had to be large enough and clear enough while being different from the last, and not every one could sit exactly over its window - or that would have looked too symmetrical and regimented.

The manufacture of the 225 brand new colours of ink in their specially-made bottles was another challenge, particular for an already-manically busy little company. Diamine are a robustly hands-on team, and the sheer scale of the man hours required to make this, the first batch of calendars, was not to be underestimated. Initially planned for 2018, the postponement until 2019 bought us time to review and tweak the artwork, refine the copy on the back and really get it into perfect shape.

And then: it was launched. We needn't have worried. Launched just 4 days ago at the time of writing it's already sold out, with shops requesting more stock to fill demand. If you've ordered one and not had it yet, they're planned for despatch mid-November.

Watch the film of me looking around the finished product and revealing SOME of the content!


Here are some places you can get one in the UK, there's still stock in the US here and here.

Large and colourful thanks go to Phil and Christine at Diamine for inviting me into their colourful world, and the opportunity to be involved in so many of their projects. Here's to the next ones!

Hassan Massoudy at October Gallery

With his wide, calligraphic bold strokes made with sliced balsa, home-cut nibs and eye-watering water-and-pigment colours (so vibrant his catalogue contains a disclaimer about the camera not being able to capture the naked-eye colour) Hassan Massoudy's work looks easy and is anything but. In his 70s now, he's an absolute master of his trade, having studied calligraphy in Baghdad and travelled to Europe. As well as his art being beautiful, and mesmerising, seeing it in person threw up questions and ideas about his process and the definition of 'art'; now settled in Paris, he's made the shift from what he describes as being a 'just' a craftsman to being an 'artist'.

The difference?

"The objective of art is more complex - more profound - than the craftsman's aim. Art asks pointed questions about the human condition. Art deals with the entire range of human experience, it engages with life and death and examines what must be done to make something new.

"The craftsman, however, is concerned with the ambiance that surrounds us all, and with making necessary objects that are both useful and agreeable."

As someone who considers themselves neither, but is at the same time a bit of both - I've certainly spent a life making useful objects visually agreeable - I found this definition interesting and challenging. I've always felt a bit outside the world of 'art', but with the definition, purpose and remit of 'art' in perpetual, fluid transformation, it's hard to run a diagnostic and come out with any sort of accurate idea about what percentage of artist, craftsman, illustrator, lettering artist and anything else any one person's composed of. So I stopped worrying about that, and started enjoying the idea of being all of those things, at once and at different times.

Further material for pondering come in Hassan's next statement:

"The origins of art lie in the mysterious act of creation, whereas artisanal production is based upon reproducing what has been done before, using previously developed ideas, and often-repeated motifs."

I was a member of the Guild of Master Craftsmen for many years, and took a certain pride in that. It meant my work had been checked by an outside body and deemed acceptably 'masterful' - at quite an early age too: I was still in my 20s. But it was indeed all about 'the craft' - the hand skills, the use of a pen, the control of one, the levels of service I gave to my clients - all things measurable by what, and who, has gone before; existing standards. The Guild did not award membership for creativity, necessarily, nor good ideas executed badly in a frenzy of excited production, or for trying something that had never been done before. It simply recognised a set of skills, and standards. I wonder if this is what Hassan was talking about.

I'm not a member any more, as it's not relevant to the work I do. I'm no longer a member for the same reason I don't enter competitions (see my blog about this), and I look at Hassan's work and see someone so in control of his ideas and materials that he has transcended the need for any sort of external approval. Surely, the ideal place to be. And yet...

Hassan's work oozes confidence and professionalism, but what's really interesting was seeing the many copies of the same piece of work stored in files at the side of the gallery, for sale. He doesn't approach a piece of blank paper and hit a perfect 10 out of the end of his nibs first time. He makes the same piece, over and over again, and chooses 'the one' for public showing. This is why, when the guest at the gallery asked why the pieces in the folder were the same price as the framed version on the wall, the curator replied 'because it is the same piece'.

At 24 Hassan had his own studio in the centre of Baghdad, and did familiar work - editorial pieces, signs, ads, commissions here and there, becoming resident calligrapher for a cinema chain; that rather nice and sought-after thing, a regular gig with a single client. But he says that 'after becoming conscious of the necessity of exploring things more deeply, and of adding something new, I sacrificed that continuity of tradition to search for something else' - which he describes as a 'painful' step. He entered a place of uncertainty, where there were 'no guides' from the strict rules, formalities and structures of traditional calligraphy.

Now, I've never done any sort of calligraphy course, nor lettering classes, so I never had any rules to break, though the desire to break them was present regardless. Thinking back, I've never had much in the way of formal education in terms of methodology or technique other than a little life drawing, painting at school and a lot of typography study - ems, picas, x-heights, slide rules, justification, orphans, widows and so on. That bit I relished. Instead, we learned techniques for problem solving, meeting deadlines, idea generation, managing multiple jobs, answering a brief. So I can't imagine what it's like to put yourself and your output outside of everything you've ever learned and practised. I suppose the equivalent would be me entering a period of exactly that discipline and formality, having existed for most of my life in a world of loose experimentation, learning on the job and figuring-it-out from necessity. I tried to put myself in Hassan's lovely, imaginary polished shoes, but my imagination couldn't stretch that far.

That Hassan has to do his pieces over and over again was reassuring. It felt like he was 'like us' - unsure at first, pushing out some wonk before the magic, and maybe going back to what he'd originally thought was the wonk but was actually 'The One'. And the element of chance was surprising; he must surely sometimes do 50 and STILL not get 'the one'. I wonder what he does then?

I was more interested in the extreme detail of Hassan's work, though I had been drawn towards it by the long-view of the massive strokes. When you get RIGHT IN THERE, the way the ink scoots across the surface of the very specific paper and lands in weighty soaks at the edges, drying to miniature galaxies, it's a world of its own; these things were what got me talking and thinking most animatedly. There are entire illustrations in the edges of those apparently casual sweeps, and tiny inky rebellions up close where the material flew off, flicked, bled and refused to be told. Step back though, and the whole thing looks like a model of creative obedience.

Of course the pieces in the show aren't just visual exercises; they're illustrated quotes, poems and pieces of prose. That's what's written there in Arabic, tucked inside and next to the strokes, underneath in faintly-off-centre lines, and in pencil beneath that. 9th century philosophers, 16th century authors, pre-Christian saints and contemporary scientists, writers and thinkers are all explored by his pen. The shapes and sweeps didn't necessarily correspond to the words - we soon abandoned trying to 'see' the quote in them - it was more a case of feeling the sentiment. If you could read Arabic of course it would be right there. But I enjoyed relying on the exhibition card only and the tiny pencil words; I chose not to engage with the quote at all, I could ignore it till frustration kicked in.

I went to the show expecting to have my eyes stretched and soothed by seeing someone else's work in the flesh, to get close up to the movement of ink across paper which isn't my own, and all the good that comes from that. I didn't expect the experience to stimulate so many questions and so much rumination on my own work and where I am in life, and what comes next. Usually, those questions arrive in the middle of the night, weighed down negativity and anxiety, but here, they didn't. Maybe that's because I was in the presence of someone who's made that journey, has many more years on the planet than me, and whose work effectively said 

'whatever it is, and is going to be, it can be this, or it can be that; it can be everything, some of it, and none of it. And although it's up to you, it's just as equally going to be out of your hands'.

(Sarah Coleman, 2018)

There we go. I should go ahead and illustrate that now, in my own tribute to Hassan and his beautiful work. If, if...if I'm up to the job...whispers one voice, while a louder one tells it to get lost, stop worrying, and pick up a loaded brush.

'Breath, Gesture and Light' at the October Gallery, Shoreditch, December 2017-January 2018.

Watch Hassan Massoudy working here.

So tell us a bit about how you work

I made a quick 'snapshot' of some of my behind the scenes photos, as I'm regularly asked how I make my work.
The answer:
Brain > Paper > Pencil > Pens > Ink...and anywhere else it needs to go from there!

Gold & Wolves.

Beautiful gold foil on my cover for Lauren Wolk's Wolf Hollow...

Part Mole, part Magpie, I can't stop rubbing the cover! It's SO covered in gold.

This was a tricky one to get right, but it was worth it, having received this copy in the post from Penguin Random House today.

Some of the work involved in the process of getting this cover right is shown below - many roughs, lots of ideas, before we settled on the finished thing!