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4/12/12, Akashiya Sai, Hand Book sketchbook

4/12/12, Akashiya Sai, Hand Book sketchbook

The weather keeps giving us teasers of Spring. . . but I’m sketching in coffee shops again.

Product Reviews: Pentel Color Brush Pen and Kuretake Brush Writer

4/9/12, Pentel Color Brush, Hand Book

In my ongoing love affair with Japanese water-soluble brush pens, I’m currently experimenting with two more brands: Pentel Color Brush Pens and Kuretake Brush Writers.

Like the Akashiya Sai and Akashiya Thin Line pens I reviewed previously, both the Pentel and Kuretake pens have actual hairy brush tips, not formed felt tips. Unlike the others I reviewed previously, however, which are ready to use upon uncapping, both the Pentel and Kuretake brush pens have reservoirs of dye ink that must be punctured before first use. They are identical in this regard: A small ring between the reservoir half of the pen and the brush half is removed, and when the two parts are screwed back together, the reservoir is punctured, allowing ink to flow to the brush. Both pens have an area on the reservoir barrel that can be squeezed to force more ink into the brush, but I found that gravity alone usually kept a steady flow going while sketching and painting. (Use care when removing or replacing the caps on both of these pens – if you inadvertently squeeze the barrel while doing this, you may find yourself with ink on your lap!)

I should qualify “steady flow,” because I found that some colors of the Kuretake flowed more consistently than others. I have four colors, and the purple is practically a gusher, while the other three colors flow more consistently. (I have only one color of the Pentel, so I couldn’t make a comparison with this brand.)

If you’re familiar with Kuretake waterbrushes (also marketed in the U.S. as Niji waterbrushes), the design of the Kuretake Brush Writer will give you déjà vu. I wouldn’t be surprised if the brush tip is made of identical material. And although I haven’t tried this myself, I’m guessing that the ink reservoir, when empty (or emptied), can be refilled with water (or diluted ink) and the pen used just like a waterbrush.

One significant difference between the Akashiya pens reviewed previously and the Pentel and Kuretake brush pens reviewed here is that the latter are both refillable with ink cartridges. Dick Blick carries refills for the Pentel. When I asked JetPens.com whether refills were available for the Kuretake, I was told that they are, but JetPens does not carry them. However, they might consider offering them in the future if enough customers are interested. (Knowing that these pens are refillable makes me feel somewhat less guilty about the landfill I’m personally filling with all the disposable pens I’ve tossed in my lifetime.)

Enough about mechanics – let’s get to the good stuff. Both the Pentel and Kuretake brush tips have a relatively wide range of sensitivity for synthetic brushes. Both were designed for Asian calligraphers, so they are both capable of producing nice variations in thick and thin lines, but I was able to get a narrower line with the Pentel.

The biggest difference between these two competing products is the way the ink interacts with various paper types. I tried them on three: a Stillman & Birn Alpha sketchbook (100 lb.), a Stillman & Birn Delta sketchbook (180 lb.), and a Global Art Materials Hand Book (a somewhat toothy, lightweight paper that usually takes washes of water-soluble pens and pencils well).

On the heavyweight Delta paper, both inks performed nicely, as I expected (since every medium I’ve tried on the Delta paper looks beautiful). Colors were rich, and washes were even (well, as even as I could make them… the variable of the operator is always present). But on the Alpha and Hand Book papers, the Pentel ink feathered and looked grainy, while the Kuretake ink looked the same as it did on the heavier paper.

Pentel on Hand Book

Pentel on S & B Delta

Another important difference is the color range. The Pentel range is what I would call “basic” – three each of blues and greens, only one red – 18 total. The 24-color Kuretake range includes five each of greens and blues, three reds, two yellows and several bright hues (that I would trade in for a few more earthy tones if I could).

One probably minor difference: The Pentel is packaged for western markets, so the packaging and insert are in English. Alas, the Kuretake packaging information is in Japanese only (although the pen itself has a band around it with basic operational instructions in English). From the illustrations, I’m guessing that I’m missing only more detailed operational instructions, or perhaps care information, but I also see some “caution” symbols, so who knows what vital bits I’ll never read?

(When I was in elementary school, many of my Japanese American peers were “forced” by their parents to attend Japanese language school so that they would learn the language of their ancestors. Back then, I was always grateful that my parents didn’t make me give up my Saturdays that way, and those peers considered me lucky. As an adult, I have deeply regretted my Japanese illiteracy, especially in regard to reading packaging information on art materials.)

Kuretake on Hand Book

Kuretake on Delta

Overall, I’d say the Kuretake Brush Writer has a slight edge over the Pentel Color Brush, mainly because of the Pentel’s feathering on lighter-weight papers and its narrower color range. But the thinner brush tip on the Pentel is a strong point in its favor. For my money, though, I think both the Akashiya Sai and Akashiya Thin Line pens make a more variable brush line than either the Pentel or the Kuretake.

Oct. 8, 2012, addendum: If you are traveling to high altitudes, leave these reservoir-type brush pens at home! Or at least don't open a pen cap over your sketchbook. I learned this lesson the hard way.



 

“I Can’t Draw a Straight Line”

4/11/12, Copic Multiliner SP pen, Akashiya watercolors

People who believe they can’t draw use this expression – “I can’t draw a straight line” – to describe their lack of skill. Where did this phrase come from? It’s as if the ability to draw a straight line were a comparatively easy skill to learn.

I find it much more difficult to draw the perfectly straight lines of buildings, boxes and pencils than to draw the curvy, organic lines of people, animals and plants. Or perhaps it’s not so much that organic lines are easier; maybe it’s just that they allow more ambiguity in perception. Straight lines are much less forgiving. I seem to own a peculiar collection of organic drawing instruments. (See my previous post about sketching art materials for more examples of “organic” lines.)

Metasketching

4/11/12, Copic Multiliner SP pen, Akashiya watercolors

Years ago, someone introduced me to the term metacommunication, which means communicating about communication.

In images I’ve seen published in books and on the Internet, I’ve noticed that some artists like to sketch their art materials. An Australian artist I admire, Liz Steel, has made it a ritual of her sketching practice to draw and paint her watercolor paint box on the first page of every sketchbook she begins.

I’ve decided that this practice – sketching the art materials that one uses to sketch with – is metasketching. (I was hoping to coin this term, but a Google search indicates that the term already exists, though it seems to have something to do with computer-aided drawing or some such. Drat. You have to get up awfully early if you want to coin a term.)

4/11/12, Copic Multiliner SP pen, Akashiya watercolors

Napping Flamingoes

4/10/12, F-C Pitt Artist Pen, Sakura Koi watercolors

Yesterday I found myself with an unexpected gift of time on a fine sunny (warm, even) afternoon, so I grabbed my sketch vest and popped over to the zoo. Before I started sketching, my favorite zoo animals used to be the more active mammals (such as orangutans and meerkats). But now that I visit with the express purpose of sketching, I seek out the slow, lethargic creatures, as well as the more colorful ones.

On previous morning visits, the flamingoes (as well as other animals) were relatively busy, but the zoo in the afternoon has a completely different rhythm. It was siesta time for a number of critters, including the flamingoes, who were all dozing or preening languorously in the sunshine. The cranes, too, moved slowly enough for my pen to keep up with.

4/10/12, Copic Multiliner SP pen, Tombow markers

The Child Within, the Child Without

4/6/12, Akashiya Thin Line

When I’m out sketching in public, other adults who happen to notice what I’m doing will give me sidelong glances, and every now and then I’ll overhear one whisper to another, “Oh, look, she’s sketching.”

Children, on the other hand, are more openly curious. Shy ones will come over and take a peek at my sketchbook without comment or response to my greetings. Others will be bolder and come right out and ask what I’m doing, or tell me about their drawing experiences. In those moments, I feel a kinship with children – they understand the joy of drawing, just for fun, and now I do, too (though it took me several decades to rediscover this joy).

On this sunny but cold afternoon at University Village, I sketched, among several things, a girl walking along the edge of a fountain in the courtyard. She moved too fast for me to capture much detail, but I was pleased to have captured her at all. A while later, while I was engrossed in sketching another scene, I sensed someone behind me, and it was the girl I had sketched, looking over my shoulder at my sketchbook and smiling. She told me she likes to draw, too. At that moment, I did something I’ve never done before in the context of sketching in public: I told her I had drawn her and showed her the sketch. She seemed delighted.

4/6/12, Akashiya Thin Line

Negative Space

Negative spaces intrigue me. If the object I am attempting to draw – say, an apple – is the positive space, then everything around the apple is the negative space. In Betty Edwards’ Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain, an exercise prompts readers to arrange a simple still life (in this case, a banana and two pairs of scissors), and then draw only the negative spaces around it.

2008, cotton rope

For years I have been exploring the relationship between positive and negative space in three dimensions. This detail, right, from one of my rope sculptures is an example.

Now that I’ve begun working in two dimensions, I’m still fascinated by the tension that develops between positive and negative shapes. Sometimes I find it easier to draw a shape if I focus on the negative space around it instead of the positive shape itself. For example, I was trying, unsuccessfully, to capture the shape of this man’s hairless pate (left). But when I focused on the space around his head (right) instead, the shape was easier to see. I find this to be true of profiles also. 

3/29/12, Akashiya Thin Line

1/12/12, Copic Multiliner SP pen

My hand, too, often presents interesting negative shapes to draw. If I get the shape of the negative space right, then voila – the shape of the fingers pressing around it have a better chance of looking right, too.

3/26/12, Akashiya Thin Line