A look back at the Sheaffer No Nonsense fountain pen.

Looking back at the fountain pens which have been particularly significant for me, there is probably none more so than the basic Sheaffer No Nonsense. Certainly, these got the heaviest usage. These are the pens that I used as a law student at Bristol Polytechnic (as it was then called, but now the University of the West of England), from 1977-80.

A Sheaffer No Nonsense fountain pen from the 1970’s.

I would buy these from a local WH Smiths. They were sold on hanging card blister packs. I cannot recall the price back then but it might have been around £7.00. There were a few different nib options including Fine, Medium and Italic but I mostly went for the Medium nib. They took Sheaffer Skrip cartridges. A Sheaffer converter could be used, of the push button or press bar type, if you had one, but the cartridges were easier, to refill mid lecture. Just unscrew the barrel, remove the empty cartridge, drop a new one into the barrel and then screw the section back on; the pen did the rest.

Looking back on my first term at Bristol, the amount of information that we were expected to take in, assimilate and learn, was daunting and stressful. Typically a college day included two hours of lectures, always in the same lecture theatre with its banked rows of orange, folding seats, each with a small, fold-out tray from the arm rest, rather like the aisle seats in a passenger plane. These were barely big enough to support an A4 pad of notepaper, let alone the printed handouts of course material to refer to. Being left handed, I remember the dilemmas of whether to take notes by annotating the printed handouts, (which were of varying degrees of detail) or by writing on my A4 pad and, more fundamentally, whether to write in lefty-underwriter style (with my elbow tucked in) or my faster, neater more usual, lefty-overwriter style, which meant rotating the notepad 90 degrees anticlockwise.

I decided on the latter, overwriter style on A4 paper and also settled on black ink. In a typical lecture, I would write six pages full of notes in an hour. A reliable and comfortable pen was essential. The No Nonsense pens, with their firm, steel nibs, were well suited to this regime. The feeds were plastic although looking at them now, I have one which is of a different shape and might be ebonite. Some of the fins have broken off.

The usual feed.
A different feed on my white No Nonsense, now with a few of the fins broken.

Over the months, the nibs would wear down, so that the rounded pellet of tipping material would develop a circular, flat foot. By then, the writing experience would be super smooth for my writing angle but if you strayed away from this sweet spot, you would encounter a sharpened edge which would be scratchy. Eventually, when the nib was worn and getting too scratchy and when I fancied a change, I would replace the pen. Well, I say “replace” but I just bought a new one and never disposed of the old ones. I still have them all.

A well-worn nib.

Aside from using the pens for lectures, study notes and essays, it was also my practice to write up my diary each night, using small, page-a-day diaries from Boots. These were chunky little volumes, about the size of a pack of playing cards, with a page of plain, thin, fountain pen-friendly paper for each day. I would use reverse writing, (writing with the opposite side of the nib) to get an extra fine line and would, with very tiny writing, manage about 28 lines to a page. Back then I did not know that this was called “reverse writing”, SBRE Brown being not yet born.

I do not think I had a strong magnifying glass at that time, let alone the ability to take macro photos of pen nibs, and with a mobile phone! But looking now more closely at some of those No Nonsense nibs, there is wear on both sides of the nib so that the tip is almost like a sharp chisel.

Nib tipping wear from both normal and reverse writing. Apologies for the fluff.

The Sheaffer No Nonsense was available in various colours but I tended to buy blue, black or white. I also found some metal bodied versions, supposedly superior and bought a couple of these although I actually preferred the normal, plastic ones.

Rooting through a tin of old, long-since retired pens, I assembled my No Nonsense pens for a group photo:

My No Nonsense pens: the college years. The two on the right are the metal ones.

And here, in a never-before-seen-together group shot, are the nibs that got me through college:

My magnificent seven No Nonsense pens. Note the absence of any corrosion or staining, despite being some 40 years old.

The pens, as the name suggests, were no frills, basic, workhorse tools. They were of a good size, 121mm opened and 151mm posted. Being plastic they were very light, but solid. The caps featured a sturdy metal pocket clip with a round ball at the end which would serve very well although I carried mine in a pencil case. The brand Sheaffer was imprinted in the pocket clip. There was no Sheaffer white dot, for reasons unknown to me as I do not think that this would have added much to the cost. There was a chrome cap band, devoid of any text. The cap unscrewed on plastic threads, in one full rotation.

The steel nibs were imprinted with the name Sheaffer, the registered trade mark circled R, the nib grade and Made in USA. I suppose that this meant in Fort Madison, Iowa which I understand closed in 2008. There is a Sheaffer Pen Museum there now, with displays of their many ranges of fountain pens, desk pen sets, advertising posters and memorabilia as well as some fascinating old machines from the former factory and a gift shop. I have not been but enjoyed an amateur video of a trip to the museum on YouTube.

The No Nonsense pens are still produced as calligraphy sets although last time I bought one it was disappointingly plasticky, with a snap cap, soft grip section and a huge open ink window in the barrel.

Some years after college, I bought myself a Sheaffer Connaisseur, which seemed to be an upmarket version of the No Nonsense with an 18k gold nib. It sounds good on paper but I never really took to it for some reason.

Not long ago I inked up one of my No Nonsense pens, the blue plastic one with a super-smooth nib. It is still very usable and still remembers my writing angle. But I think it has deserved its retirement now.

Nine years with the Parker Frontier fountain pen.

There are several reasons for my writing about this pen today:

  1. I have been looking through my accumulation and rediscovering pens which are like old friends.
  2. I added an Index of Pen Posts to the blog menu recently and noticed that this is a worthy pen not covered before.
  3. I thought that it was coming up to ten years since I bought the pen, although it turns out to be nine.


I bought this pen at Rymans, our local stationers in May 2011. It cost £22.99 normally but there was a discount of £6.00, which was a bonus. I had some previous experience with other versions from the Frontier range. I used the plastic barrelled ones for registering weddings at our church, a duty that I had taken on a few years earlier. I had liked it, as a plain and simple but respectable pen, for use with iron gall ink.

Parker Frontier, in stainless steel with gold coloured nib and clip.

The story of the Parker Pen Company is a long one and dates back to 1888. This particular pen bears the production date code E which denotes the year 2008, (using the “QUALITYPEN” system with Q being a year ending with zero). The cap also states that it was made in the UK which would be from the Newhaven site, which was to close in 2011.

Make and Model name shown here…
and the place and date of production.

Thus at the time of manufacturing this particular pen in 2008, Parker had a history of 120 years. Apparently, this milestone was celebrated with a souvenir DVD of the company’s history, a copy of which was given to all the employees at the Newhaven site along with a twin set of a Parker Frontier fountain pen and ball pen. The Parker film (about 51 minutes long) on 120 years of Parker, can be viewed on YouTube. It is somewhat dated now but gives an interesting insight into the company’s origins in Janesville, Wisconsin, the introduction of the Duofold, the vacumatic and the Parker 51, the management buyout, visits by dignitaries including Margaret Thatcher and culminating in the production of 40 million pens a year.

The Frontier was to fill a place in the market at the lower end of the Parker range, sitting above the Vector but below the Sonnet. I remember reading a number of reviews of the pen on Amazon at the time. I was very happy with mine and it became my main pen, for several years.

Construction and design

My model has the brushed stainless steel barrel and cap with a gold coloured pocket clip and cap finial. Some people do not like “mixing their metals” but I liked the gold and silver colours together, (a feature which Cross calls “the medalist”). Parker did also make a version with all-silver coloured fittings which was the model that SBRE Brown owned and reviewed and with which he wrote his final exams in high school.

There is no cap ring. The rim of the cap is quite sharp but sits almost flush with the barrel when the pen is capped. It also posts deeply and securely. The length is around 131mm capped, 123mm uncapped and 149mm posted. Despite the steel body, it weighs only around 22g in all, or 14g uncapped.

The barrel seems to be made from a single piece of steel and has no seams, and has a rounded end like a bullet. When capped the pen feels very robust and protected, encased in steel.

The nib is stainless steel but on my version, has a gold colour plating or coating, matching the arrow clip and bears the name Parker and logo. The nib grade can be seen on the feed as M for medium.

Nicely finished nib.

The black grip section is slightly tapered with no facets but features a non-slip surface. This is not a rubber grip, but a thin skin giving a slightly sticky feel. This does eventually blister unfortunately.

Nib and feed unscrewed. Grip section showing blistering of the non-slip coating.

The pen takes Parker proprietary cartridges or a Parker converter although not included with the pen.

With Parker Quink cartridge.

I enjoyed mine and used it a lot. The nib wrote very smoothly with good flow, showing how good a steel nib can be when set up correctly. The nib and feed can be unscrewed for cleaning or maintenance.

Likes and dislikes

This seems a fairly straight-forward pen but one which presumably benefited from Parker’s 120 years’ experience of nib and feed design. It looks smart, is sturdy and durable (apart from the covering on the section) and is comfortable to hold. Being able to unscrew the nib and feed is a nice feature. Above all, it writes smoothly and well with good flow. Mine is currently inked with Waterman Serenity Blue.

Writing sample, with Serenity Blue on Radley notebook paper. Extract from John Milton.

On the downside, the tendency of the non-slip coating to wear and blister eventually leaves unsightly gaps. I would prefer a grip section without the rubbery layer, such as on the Sonnet or Duofold.


This pen has seen a fair amount of use. Later, I was to move on to a Parker Sonnet, in burgundy. That also had a steel nib which performed similarly but a more luxurious body.

I went through my secondary school days using Parker pens and grew up believing that a Parker pen was special. After my Sonnet, as I began to discover the fountain pen online community, online pen dealers, YouTube reviewers, and pen shows, my pen accumulating gathered pace. It escalated for a good five years or so. However it is nice to revisit our beginnings once in a while to keep a sense of perspective. Anyone can buy a new pen but to have one for nine years, takes a little longer.

The final Frontier (photo).

My Lamy 2000, a brief update.

After writing up my history with the Lamy 2000 recently, (My Lamy 2000 fountain pen and I), I made a fairly simple do-it-yourself adjustment to the nib to increase the flow. Mine has a broad nib. Being left-handed and writing in an “overwriter” style, I need a slightly wetter flow.

This involved carefully bending the small nib upwards very slightly to widen the gap between the tines. The result was a wetter flow, better lubrication and a generally far happier and less frustrating writing experience. No longer was it necessary to maintain pressure on the nib to write. The gap between the tines is now clearly visible when viewed under a loupe, although in profile, any upward bend of the nib is barely evident.

Lamy 2000 Broad nib, 14k gold and platinum plated. Now with tines a little wider than before.

I happily wrote more than 12 pages of A4 paper before getting through one fill of Waterman Serenity Blue ink, which gives you an idea of the wetness of the nib. If anything it was perhaps a little too much on the wet side.

I found that trying to close the gap is more difficult than opening it. Instead, it occurred to me to try a drier ink and I recalled that Pelikan 4001 Royal Blue (“Konigsblau”) is such an ink.

Showing front section, nib and feed, disassembled for cleaning.

Once again, the Lamy 2000 went upstairs for a bath. It is an easy and enjoyable pen to clean. For the benefit of anyone unfamiliar with this, my routine is as follows:-

  • Unscrew the section from the barrel. Lift off the metal horse-shoe shaped ring which sits in a recess at this join, which is the clip to hold the cap on. Do not lose it or let it go down the plug hole.
  • Then, holding the nib between finger and thumb (above and below the nib, not at the sides), gently push the nib inwards, so that the entire nib and feed unit comes out through the back of the section; note that there is a thick rubber washer towards the back of the feed, which you must also be careful not to lose.
  • The nib and feed unit can then be rinsed in water to remove all traces of the last used ink. If desired the nib can be slid off the feed, as this simply clips over the sides, just like a Lamy Safari nib. Be extra careful not to lose this either, as it is quite small and fiddly on its own.
  • Wash the ink reservoir by drawing water up and down a few times until this runs clear. If desired, to lubricate the piston, (although I do not do this every time), introduce a tiny amount of silicone grease to the inside walls of the reservoir, with a toothpick or similar implement and wind the piston up and down a few times to spread the grease. Thank you, to an old Goulet Pens video for this advice.
The small bits – cap locking ring, the nib and feed washer. The washer makes a handy support for nib photos.

I filled the pen with Pelikan 4001 Konigsblau and, low and behold, the flow now seems to be spot on for me. It is still sufficiently wet to give great flow and lubrication, for effortless writing with minimal pressure, but the flow is not excessive.

Writing sample, Lamy 2000 with Pelikan 4001 Konigsblau on Basildon Bond letter writing paper.

The Konigsblau is an ink that I have not used very much before. I have had two bottles of it hanging around for a long time. I had never really liked the shade of blue all that much as it seemed to me rather pale and lacking the vibrance of say Waterman Serenity Blue or Montblanc Royal Blue. And yet now, in a wetter pen with a broad nib, this Pelikan ink comes into its own. It does seem paler than Serenity Blue but gives an elegant look, with some subtle shading. With the stubby broad nibbed Lamy, you benefit from this shading and also a degree of line width variation.

I could easily have given up on the Lamy or left it dormant as I had not got on with it for so long. Similarly, the Pelikan ink had been little used and was always passed over when I wanted a royal blue, as I would pick another from Waterman, Montblanc, Aurora, or Caran d’Ache from my ink drawer.

I am now using and enjoying my Lamy 2000 more than at any time since I bought it almost six years ago. The conclusion is that not only pens, but inks too, can enjoy a renaissance if we give them (or ourselves) another chance.

Writing sample on John Lewis Script, Post quarto laid writing pad, Ivory, 100gsm.

The Cross Apogee fountain pen, revisited.

During this period of lockdown, I have been looking back over my fountain pen accumulation. This now spans a period of some 50 years. A number of my pen purchases have been part of a recurring pattern, of wanting a new special, or “best” pen, as a trusty companion for life that would be a step up from what I had at the time.

This would generally be a black pen with a gold nib. Hence, certain milestone purchases have been a Parker 75 Laque, a Sheaffer Connoisseur, a Cross Apogee, a Lamy 2000, a Pelikan M800 (in this case, blue stripe with black cap) a Montblanc Meisterstuck 145 Classique and an Aurora 88 (black with a gold plated cap).

With hindsight, it is obvious that none of these signalled the end of my journey of pen buying. Rather, they were like waymarks along the path, some leading to dead ends and others to a seemingly endless onward journey. Sometimes, when you are on a walk up a hill, it is useful to meet someone who is coming down who can tell you how far it is to the top and what you will find when you get there.

I recently got out my Cross Apogee. I remember buying it, in around 2006 or 2007 with a slightly dizzy excitement at spending as much as £100.00 (which is what it cost then, rather more now). The pen looked very handsome in the glass topped counter of the department store.

Cross Apogee fountain pen.

This Apogee is a metal bodied pen, with a gleaming black laquer finish. It is supposedly superior to the Bailey, as it has an 18k gold nib. There is a sprung metal pocket clip, with a sharp point, like an arrowhead. The cap is snap-on, secured by a raised rim at the base of the section. The broad cap ring, reads on the back, “CROSS, EST 1846”

The pen is comfortable to hold, by virtue of the wide girth and the absence of any cap threads or step between barrel and section. Uncapped, the pen measures around 127mm. The cap can be posted deeply and securely, to increase the length to 144mm. It weighs around 44g capped, or 26g uncapped.


The barrel tapers to finish in a shiny plated metal finial. Removing the barrel, the cartridge or converter metal housing is imprinted with a date code, in my case 0805, being manufactured in August 2005. I particularly enjoy having a date on my pens. The Apogee takes Cross proprietary cartridges, or else the screw-in converters.

Showing the 0805 production date code.

The nib is attractively decorated with CROSS, 18k 750 and with lines running down each side, perhaps to suggest the vanes of a feather, which ties in with the arrowhead style of the pocket clip. The nib grade of M for medium is found on one side of the nib, rather like on a Sailor or a Pilot nib.

18k gold nib, medium. Silver-coloured plating. The M is on the other side.

In the event, I did not take to this pen, which was disappointing. First, I recall being troubled about the degree of lateral wobble in the pocket clip. I appreciated that it was designed to rock up and down but the side to side movement was, I felt, possibly a defect. However this issue does not bother me at all now.

The greater problem was one of ink flow. Once filled from a bottle, it seemed that the pen might not always make it to the end of a page of A4 paper without suffering from ink starvation. I never discovered the reason for this. I lost patience with the pen and put it away. Getting it out again a few years ago, armed with a little more experience in nib-wrangling, I examined the nib and feed under a loupe but all looked normal to me and I could not work out why it would not keep writing. The nib and feed are friction fit.

Friction-fit nib and feed, removed.

Recently, (after some success in tuning the nib of my Lamy 2000 to my liking) I got out the Apogee and cleaned the nib and feed. Under a loupe, all certainly looked well. The nib has a tiny gap between the tines, right down to the tipping which usually indicates a good flow. I filled it with the nicely behaved Waterman Serenity blue. The pen did keep going for a full page of A4, but then after being stood for just a few minutes in a pen cup, it exhibited hard-starts. I tried inking it with Pelikan Edelstein Smoky Quartz, an “Extra Soft Ink” to see if this might help. Trying again for the full-page-of-A4 test, the pen kept going but after then standing the capped pen upright in a pen cup for 20 minutes, it hard-started again and needed several good shakes. This pen does not like to be stood up. It seems that the ink all drains away from the nib. My inexpensive Cross Bailey Light pens never have this problem.

I looked on Amazon and read some of the varied reviews of the Apogee. It seemed that others had also encountered problems with ink flow on this pen. If any readers know the reason for this and how to solve it, I would be interested to hear from them in the comments below please!

It is not realistic to expect that every pen we buy will be fantastic. For anyone wanting a high end Cross pen, I would recommend perhaps trying a Townsend over the Apogee. Also, although quite a bit more expensive, there is the flagship Peerless, of which I have read good reports, although I have not owned one.

I can conclude, at least for me, that the Cross Apogee was not to be the pen purchase of a lifetime. As to where my pen journey leads, I am beginning to suspect that it will eventually bring me back to where I first started, with a simple pen that works well, like a Cross Bailey Light, for example. This has become my office pen over recent months and which I have found more dependable than the costly Apogee.

My Lamy 2000 fountain pen and I.

Having time at home now, I have enjoyed looking back through the many pen photos stored on my computer and my list of previous posts in this blog. I was surprised to find that I had not yet written about the Lamy 2000.

This is probably because I never really got on with it all that well. Perhaps, it was from a feeling of “If you have nothing nice to say, it’s better to say nothing at all.” Well, it’s not that bad. There are lots of features that I like about it, except that mine never wrote as effortlessly and enjoyably as I had hoped for.

The classic, understated Lamy 2000 fountain pen.

I remember buying my Lamy 2000, in May of 2014. It was in a lovely pen shop in Brighton, called Websters, sadly not there any more. After having a good look around the display cases and having bought a couple of bottles of Watermans ink and a Lamy Logo fountain pen, I had strong urge to take home a Lamy 2000. At £175.00 it may have then been my most expensive pen purchase to date and requiring of spousal approval, which was duly sought and granted.

The pen came with a medium nib. There were no other options at the point of sale. The packaging was simple and modest. I admired the pen in the train on our way home to London that evening and was excited to try it out.

The medium nib that my pen came with, in 2014

I should add here, that the brushed metal Lamy Logo fountain pen that I also bought that day, with its Safari-style steel nib, proved to be buttery smooth. At almost six times the price, I had high hopes for the gold nibbed Lamy 2000.

Unfortunately writing with the 2000 was frustrating. The medium nib was smooth but dry and needed constant effort to write. Over the following weeks, I tried several different inks, flushed the nib and feed numerous times and tried different papers. I wrote pages and pages and drew spoked wheels to see in what direction the driest lines were occurring. Being a lefty overwriter, I need a wetter nib as the pen does more pushing forwards and sideways and not many downstrokes to recharge the nib.

Disassembled for cleaning. Over the years I probably enjoyed cleaning the pen more than writing with it.

I did not want to take a chance on adjusting the gold nib myself. To cut a long story short, I eventually gave up on the pen and put it away. I had others that wrote better.

However, some six months later, something prompted me to get in touch with Lamy and I sent them an email to ask if anything could be done. They replied and invited me to send the pen back to them in Germany, which I did, with a note requesting an adjustment to my nib, or else a replacement nib, perhaps a broad.

To their great credit, notwithstanding the passage of several months since purchase, Lamy returned my pen a few days later, free of charge with a new nib. And this time it was a stubby broad.

A new broad nib brings new hope.

Once again I went through the process of filling the pen, trying it on different papers and writing pages and pages. It was better than before! I liked the line produced by the broad nib. Yet, it still suffered from the problem of needing pressure to make it write, to get ink to flow but of course this pressure caused friction and resistance as the pen moved across the paper. All in all it was hard work and not enjoyable. What’s more, the nib literally squeaked on the paper.

Enjoying the Cult Pens Deep Dark Blue ink.

From time to time over the years I would get it out again, thinking that a different ink would make the difference. But always I would end up flushing the ink and putting the pen away again and so for almost six years the pen has been unfulfilled and largely unused. Yet, even now as I write this, I am tempted to give it another try. Maybe it just needs the nib tweaked to open up the tines more. How hard can that be? Whereas in the past I was not brave enough to try it, I think I may have reached the “past caring” point at which I am prepared to take the risk. And if all else fails, I could get it done by an experienced nibmeister.

I know that so many enthusiasts speak highly of their L2K’s and I want a part of that enjoyment. I do admire the minimalist, understated design; the barely visible seam where the piston knob meets the barrel; the clever mechanism for the push-on cap; the free-floating nib which can be so easily removed for cleaning; the unique finish of the Makrolon body and the clean juxtaposition with the brushed stainless steel section and the subtle, platinum coated gold nib. I also know that I am not alone and that others have found the pen hard to use.

Yet, the design wins me over every time and makes me want to give it another chance. We will see how this turns out.

Who can resist this unique design?

Update, 9 April 2020:

The exercise of writing this post had the effect of focusing my mind on the problem with my nib. This morning, I awoke with a resolve to try to adjust the nib myself, with some very simple tine spreading.

I examined the nib again under the loupe to remind myself of the problem. I then pushed the nib downwards against my thumb nail, in a few very gentle, controlled presses, and examined the nib again. Within moments, the tines had opened up. I thought that I might have overdone it and flipped the pen over and tried pushing again to close the gap. I found that it was easier to open the gap than to close it.

I tried dipping the pen in ink and wrote a few lines. All indications were that it was still writing smoothly, with the tines level, but that the wetness would be increased. I then filled the pen properly, with Waterman Serenity Blue and enjoyed writing for a page or so of A4. I tried a few different notebooks and found marked differences in absorbency between different types of paper.

Trying the effect of opening up the tines a little. Much wetter now, but without being too wet.

The nib and feed kept up without problems for a full page. The nib still squeaks and needs careful handling to keep to the sweet spot. But it is now wetter and better lubricated than before and this will be a much needed improvement for my style of writing.

After a few brave moments of opening up the gap between the tines.

A look at the Visconti Van Gogh Starry Night fountain pen.

Not so much a review today, but rather an excuse to air some photos of this lovely pen, that would otherwise remain buried in my computer.

The Visconti Van Gogh Starry Night.

Last summer seems a long time ago now, in the care-free days before the coronavirus pandemic. Now, at home in partial lockdown, I took the opportunity to look back through my hundreds of pen photos to try to tidy up the folders a bit.

It was at a meet up of the London fountain pen club, last June, that I acquired this pen. Its provenance is that it belonged to Penultimate Dave, the pen collector, prolific Instagrammer and YouTube pen reviewer formerly known as Visconti Dave. He was offering this pen and a few others from his collection, for sale. I did not have a Van Gogh. I had admired them in Selfridges and thought that the Starry Night was the one to have but had not stretched to buying one. This was the perfect time to rectify that.

The Van Gogh pens come in a variety of colours, each based upon the palette of a different famous painting, named on the cap ring. Hence, Starry Night is predominantly a rich dark blue, with splashes of yellow and whisps of white. Each pen is unique as the distribution of colours comes out slightly differently. There are over a dozen different paintings to choose from and some enthusiasts collect the whole set.

Beautiful swirls of rich dark blue, yellow and white, set off by silver coloured furniture.

The pen has a sprung metal pocket clip, (bow shaped, like the arches of the Ponte Vecchio in Florence) and a removable magnetic metal cap finial that can be replaced with a jeweled one or with your initials, although I have not done so.

The Visconti curved and laser etched pocket clip.

The cap and barrel are multi faceted. The cap snaps shut by means of a magnet inside the cap and so there are no cap threads to interfere with your grip. Nor is there any significant step from the barrel to the section, where you might grip the pen and so it is smooth to hold. Fun fact: the magnetic cap can be used to pick up spent staples from your desk.

The faceted cap and barrel. A Leuchtturm A5 plain paper journal, with pencil lines ruled by me. My notebook, my rules.

The grip section is metal with shiny plating. This looks attractive, and photogenic, particularly in contrast to the dark blue swirls of the barrel. It also gives the pen some heft at the front end. The down side, for some, is that it makes for rather a slippy surface to grip but I hold the pen just above this and am therefore able to anchor the pen with my thumb and forefinger on the barrel to keep the nib at the sweet spot. I find the pen very comfortable and balanced whether unposted (for short notes) or posted, for longer writing sessions.

Weighty metal section but slippery to hold.

The nib is steel, (mine is a fine), plated and with some fancy scroll work, rather more elaborate than on my Visconti Rembrandt. It is firm nib but beautifully smooth and with good flow and lubrication. I should add that it was not quite as wet when I first got it. After using it for a few days I decided to open up the tines just a little to improve flow (which I had also done on my Visconti Rembrandt, to good effect), to better suit my lefty-overwriter style.

Gorgeous scroll work on this steel nib, now with a hint of light between the tines.

I employed a trick learned from an SBRE Brown video, whereby you place your thumb on the middle of the nib, place the tip of the nib on the nail of your other thumb, then push downwards on the nib, very carefully, but just enough to start bending the tines upwards away from the feed. As you do this, it has the effect of widening the gap between the tines and increasing ink flow. You should go very carefully when bending this, or any nib. The aim is only to open up the tines a fraction and not to leave the nib looking like a ski jump. Check the results constantly with a loupe and by writing with the pen and do not overdo it. Also, as Stephen Brown said, “You will get ink on your fingers, but that is ok because you’re helping your pen.”

The pen takes standard international cartridges, or a converter. There are metal threads on the inside of the barrel.

Metal to metal for the barrel threads.

When I received the pen, Dave had it inked with a dark blue ink with an amazing red sheen. Once this was exhausted, I flushed it and refilled it with Waterman Serenity blue, which I like to use when getting to know a new pen and also to chase away any residue from more persistent inks. (This is another trick I have learned, this time from Laura of Fountain Pen Follies).

Penultimate Dave’s sheeny ink. I forgot to note down what it was.

Looking back at my notebook from that time, I filled about twelve pages with the Van Gogh, in conversation with myself (Van Gogh would approve) as to how the pen wrote and whether or not to tamper with the nib. I felt that my Rembrandt was smoother, but then that was a medium nib, not a fine.

Enjoying the Visconti nib on Leuchtturm paper.

Later that summer, I travelled to northern Italy for a holiday on Lake Garda. I brought the Van Gogh with me. I thought it would like that. I paired it with Graf von Faber-Castell Cobalt blue cartridges. In the event, I did not use it all that much as I got distracted by another pen that I bought on holiday. This is often the way of things when you keep buying more pens.

Recently I inked it up, with Conway Stewart Tavy, by Diamine which is an old favourite blue black. This suits it very well. After this I tried the pen on a handful of different notebooks. It was particularly enjoyable on a thick, 100gsm paper from an A4 wire-bound notepad called Concord, premium writing paper.

The Van Gogh feels rather superior to the Rembrandt, as is reflected in the higher price tag. It is faceted, whereas the Rembrandt is not but otherwise the size and features are very similar. They compliment each other well. Both are probably regarded as near entry level Viscontis, in comparison to the various Homo Sapiens, Divinas and Opera Masters of the Visconti catalogue, none of which I own. But they are still very commendable pens in their own right with Italian flair and lofty artistic associations, albeit that the nib might need tweaking.

Visconti Van Gogh (left) beside a Visconti Rembrandt for comparison.