“No Ordinary Pencil”

I have written a summary and posted it under the title “No Ordinary Pencil“. It will have a separate page and permanent link at the top of the menu. I still think of it as a work in progress and it will be updated from time to time, especially if I stumble upon something new. I’ve left out some details in order to keep the length manageable, but you can find further information in the related posts—I will be linking them soon. But for those interested in having everything in one place, that’s the place to start.

Historical information about the Blackwing is elusive though the extent of my searching hasn’t reached into things like corporate archives. As an ardent pencil user, I became very interested in the rise and decline of wood-case pencils: a story so rich, complex, and colorful that I may only ever know a small portion of it. And as much as this blog is specifically about one pencil, to me the Blackwing in a sense stands for all pencils that have come and gone. But my concern in having a blog so narrowly focused has been for it to be mistaken as fanatical and single-minded. To be honest, I thought just focusing on one pencil would make things a little easier (I was wrong about that). And in fact, the Blackwing isn’t my favorite pencil (though it’s certainly in the top 5). Instead, everything about the Blackwing just seemed very compelling, and given the pencil’s reputation I thought it would be worth trying to discover more about it. Combine that with the fact there were no other blogs—as far as I could tell—that focused solely on the Blackwing, and, here we are.

It seemed to me that while the Blackwing is more than 64 years old its discontinuation happened not so long ago. So rather than let it fade into history like so many others, why not try to gather what artifacts remain, as well as talk with the people who used them—famous or not. Shining a light on the history of the Blackwing has also helped illuminate more than six decades of writing culture for me, which has only heightened my curiosity and deepened my appreciation.

I owe a debt of gratitude to: Stephen, Gunther, Matthias, Michael, Adair, and Lisa for their help and support; the readers who have submitted sightings; and everyone who has commented or offered suggestions.

And, thanks to you—the readers.

All 40 to 50 of you.  :)

Musical Barber-ism

Another photograph of Samuel Barber, Blackwing 602 in-hand.

Here is a link to a program from the WPR show To the Best of Our Knowledge, which addresses why it is we seem to love sad music. Featured in the segment is Barber’s Adagio for Strings.

While I can understand and appreciate the author’s sentiment, that Barber’s Adagio is the “saddest music ever written”, I think attempting to affix such a designation only serves to harm: music’s capacity to convey emotion is only limited when such an artificial boundary is imposed upon it. My feeling has always been that music and the rest of the arts in general are resistant to qualifiers such as “best” or “worst” etc. If such a thing as “best” (or any superlative) exists in music aesthetics, that means an immediate and irrevocable limit is in place from the start: as a performer then I’m either consigned to know there is a “best” performance that I haven’t reached, or if I do, it suggests there is nothing more that can be learned from that piece.

Music isn’t compatible with finding limits, superlatives, or absolutes with regard to aesthetics and even if it were, there’s little to be gained in finding them. And to argue such designations is rarely about the music—it’s usually more about the person doing the arguing.

 To suggest that there is some ostensible end to be reached anywhere in music is, I think, to incalculably miss the point.   

Flak.

I noticed that a well-known art supply store “appropriated” some original content from this site, both graphics and text (see screen grab below, click to enlarge), to help sell their CalCedar products. While the Copland photograph is from the A.P., the one they used was taken from this site. The picture of the vintage Blackwings is certainly mine (original here), and so is the underlined text (original here). The remaining text borrows from some other sites too, yet there isn’t a single attribution—and on a commercial site no less. I think it’s fair to say that this isn’t due just to some careless online image search; it’s overt theft.

You can see this sort of thing happening between blogs here and there, but it’s disappointing when such an established company—one presumably devoted to art and the work of artists—cares so little about copyright.

The problem with stealing from a site like this one—whose content is so particular (and is so infrequently visited)—is that it’s easier to get caught.

[Here is the original link. Page removed.]

“It Writes Before You Do”

I’m not sure what it was, but today I was reminded of the reaction a good friend of mine had when she first tried a Blackwing 602, and in particular, what she said. Writing on Clairefontaine music paper (which is the same stock as their Triomphe line), she immediately paused after the first letter, incredulously examining the tip of the pencil—as if what she was feeling didn’t correspond with what she was seeing. She resumed writing and as she did, said: “It’s like it’s writing before I do.”

I’ve wondered since then if the expression “It Writes Before You Do” couldn’t have been a nice slogan for a smooth-writing pencil, in a mid-20th century kind of way.

(Is it just me, or does this photo have a slight optical illusion, as if it has rotated slightly clockwise? It seems more pronounced if you tilt your head to the left.)

Birds of a Feather