A Pen Diversion
As you’d expect from a country that birthed Botticelli, Michelangelo, and Leonardo da Vinci, Italy produces some of the world’s most beautiful pens. When planning this trip, I marked two places as “must see”:
The first, Casa della Stilografica, carries a range of pens from a range of countries. This trip, however, focused on Italian pens. I found the shop on Via Cavour, and its meager selection surprised me. When the shopkeeper understood that I was looking for fountain pens, however, she said, “There is another,” and redirected me across the street. They have two locations on the same street.
The other location’s counter displayed rows and rows of fountain pens, grouped by manufacturer. My research had narrowed my view to two particular pen makers: Aurora and Leonardo. Some of their models could set you back a mortgage payment or two, or about half the rent on a studio apartment in Silicon Valley. I can drool over the special editions, but I aim modestly. Still, when Sherry saw the price tags, she said, “I think this is the part when I step outside.” In a flash, she understood why I’d been encouraging her to buy a Swatch in every city we’d visited.
The Leonardos spoke loudest to me. I almost bought a gray-and-white marbled number that echoed the statues we’ve gawked at, but then this Pura Satin Demonstrator spoke to me:
Lovely pen.
Pen collectors have a term: “grail pen.” A nod to the Holy Grail, it describes a collector’s aspirational pen. Many collectors say their grail pen is one of the Visconti Homo Sapiens models. The bodies of some models are made from hardened basaltic lava from Italy’s Mount Etna. Oversized, substantial, and captivating, a Homo Sapiens Bronze Age or Sandstorm would enhance my collection considerably. It would also cost far more than I’ve ever spent on a pen, and probably more than I should spend on a pen while also paying to gallivant through Europe for three weeks. I went into the store conflicted, both hoping and not hoping I’d find a less expensive option to my Homo Sapiens grail pen.
I entered the flagship store behind a couple I’d guess were a decade my senior. While this was my first time entering this store, it was clearly not theirs. A reunion of sorts erupted between the shopkeeper and the couple: flailing hands, warm embraces, and flurries of Italian. While they shopped, I marveled at all the treasures — special editions like the Homo Sapiens Arizona Sunset and the Dante Alighieri. Then we started chatting, and my visit to the pen store took a dramatic leap forward. What delightful people! They were Keith and JoAnne, if memory serves. Semi-retired New Yorkers who spend four months each year in Florence, they talked about how they’ve fallen in love with the city. “It gets in your skin,” they said. He was some sort of bookkeeper or accountant that still took occasional work. She had retired from the marketing firm for Peanuts. I wish Laura, who collects all things Snoopy, had been there. JoAnne said that Charlie Brown embodied Charles Schulz. Keith was the pen geek, and had bought four roller balls and three fountain pens in this visit. Such serendipity to swap stories with a fellow pen lover.
As I looked over all the pens on display, a Van Gogh Self Portrait caught my eye. While in Paris, we visited the Orsay Museum. It houses a collection of Van Gogh paintings, including the one to which this pen pays homage. Here’s a snap of me mugging with a different self-portrait, and then one I took of the painting in question:
Without any qualms, I bought this pen. Much cheaper than any Homo Sapiens (are you reading this, Sherry?). Here are some photos:
You’ll notice the distinctive clip that all Visconti pens share. It’s modeled after the Ponte Vecchio, which I’d traipsed across only moments before. This was the last pen they had of this model. It seemed kismet. Someday I might reach my grail, but for now I’ll cherish this Van Gogh pen and all the memories from this trip it’s sure to invoke.