Mi Bebé

I recently started a new project, collecting stories and photos of things people own—that they feel are their most beautifully designed possession. In the course of setting it up (finally — I’ve wanted to do this for years), I had to ask myself what mine was. Like a lot of people, there are a few things that come to mind, but there’s a particular paintbrush I own, a watercolor paintbrush. I use it more than any other brush. Not only do I find it incredibly useful, incredibly versatile, and thoughtfully constructed, but also beautiful. Actually, gorgeous.

All day, I work mostly on a computer. Even stopping to brainstorm in a notebook, it’s all toward making things from brain to screen, brain to screen, brain to screen. With this perfect brush, I get to make things with my hands.

For context, my paintings are abstract, strongly influenced by my roots in typography (if you’re curious, look up asemic art). I’m alternately attempting to channel Middle-eastern scribes, Roman stone cutters, Asian calligraphers, stone-age mark makers, European font foundry workers, etc.

Until about 150 years ago, most of those muses used round brushes and not flat ones, and this style of paintbrush is way older than 150 years. More like 1,500 years, at least. And that’s what I hold in my hand when I pull colors across a page.

This particular heir of that monumental legacy is the Princeton Neptune Oval Wash brush (3/4”), and since saying Princeton Neptune Oval Wash brush (3/4”) is just too much, I prefer The Marvelous Brush, or increasingly, Mi Bebé.

Imagine: Droplets of water have softened a paint block and now Mi Bebé is moistened enough to hold shape as we gently touch it to the color and let it drink it into its lovely bristles. We might gently wipe or turn it to take up more paint, or dab (and spoil) a second color to blend them on the brush. We hold it over the paper, pausing very briefly (it’s winter and the air is dry) to consider the page… And, often point first, we pull and curve the color across the sheet, fattening the stroke by pressing (gently!) and turning the brush. Quickly, we pick up a second prepared brush or rinse Mi Bebé, and then pull another color in response to the first, and allow them to spread and blend. This continues until we pause: Do I need anything else? Should I stop and let the colors and paper take over? What color is the brush holding now, and is there a place for what it’s carrying? Should I stop??

I suspect we drive less if we own a poorly designed car and make more smoothies when we’ve got a fantastic little portable blender. I paint more when I have good supplies. Some are marvelous.

And I do marvel, every time I pick it up, whether to paint with it or to praise it like a tiny god.