Brush Basin Chronicles

and what I wish I had told my parents

Craig and Laura went to England last month. It was a fine trip; we rode our bicycles and visited with friends and saw many interesting places. In the coming month or so I will hopefully produce a post or two and share some photos. A memorable moment for me occurred in Truro, the regional capital of Cornwall. We had been to the art museum there and looking down from the mezzanine into the museum art store, I saw a Brush Basin! Lots of Brush Basins actually, in three different models. What is a Brush Basin? It is a handy small plastic tub designed to hold and soak and clean artist paint brushes. It was invented and marketed by my father, Harrison Linger, in the basement of our home in Louisville starting in the early 1970s. It has been in continuous production since that time. The patent has long since expired and the design has been modified by multiple manufacturers, but there has been little change in the basic design: Brush Basins have a central well for water or paint solvent, usually divided into two sections to allow separation of clean and dirty liquids; a series of holes along the rim to allow brushes of varying size to be held upright to dry or preserve their paint; a raised series of slots along the bottom of the basin to hold brushes for soaking without bending their bristles against the bottom or side; and finally, a series of raised washboard ridges along the bottom of the other section to help with brush cleaning. There may or may not be a lid. The lid will keep the solvent from evaporating and allow the basin to be moved without spilling. The bottom of the lid can also be used for mixing paint. Some of this can be accomplished with an old coffee can or mason jar, but for eight dollars you are far better off with a Brush Basin.

An original Linger Artist Products Brush Basin, circa 1973.
In the Cornwall art store, the Brush Basins are stacked below the hanging lamp.
I was very pleased. I had never seen so many Brush Basins in one store before, and three different models. Cornwall has a rich tradition of landscape painting and many artists live in the region. Perhaps that explains such a fine selection.
A different shape, but still with all the original Brush Basin features.
A bargain at five dollars


Seeing this herd of brush basins, I thought how pleased my father would be to know his invention is still in production after 53 years, in use by painters all over the world. I suspect for a consumer product to be in production for this period of time with no essential change in design is remarkable. It is a simple product that works well and fills a previously unmet need. It is easy and inexpensive to manufacture, has no moving parts, requires no assembly, and is easy to pack. Harrison spent years refining the design, fashioning the vacuum molds by hand, getting the patent and trade mark, finding a manufacturer, marketing the product at art shows, and finally securing contracts from art supply distributors. I grew up surrounded by Brush Basins; we grew up together. 

An early Brush Basin, attached to another Harrison invention, the Palette Pack.
Early Brush Basins, designed to clip on to easels.
The bristle squeezing device.
The Brush Basin has now assumed its final square shape. The bristle squeezing device will be eventually abandoned; too complicated, requires separate molding and assembly.
Now with a squeezing tab; still too complicated, requires assembly, interferes with lid.
Evolution of the Brush Basin.
United States Patent 3,776,371. Click here to see the whole patent file.
This was before that time of computer-aided design; these patent drawings were done by hand by Harrison. He was trained as a draftsman and graphic artist.
The name is different from the product, and requires a separate trademark to protect it.
Hand-made wooden molds for vacuum-molding plastic fabrication.
Brush Basins packed a dozen to a box and ready for shipping.
Before you can ship anything, you need to have someone who wants to buy it. These were pre-internet days; Harrison went to art shows and trade fairs to drum up business. This is a Brush Basin promotional display.

For several years all Brush Basins were manufactured at a small plastic fabrication factory in Louisville. Harrison would then ship them to an art supply distributor who then sold them to individual art stores. Later Harrison licensed the rights to the Dick Blick Company, now Blick Art Materials. They took over production; Harrison got royalty checks, and our basement eventually emptied of Brush Basins. The patent expired and the Brush Basin was copied by other manufacturers, now becoming just brush basins, without the capital letters.

What is the current state of the brush basin? A quick internet search suggests they are thriving. They are readily available in multiple models, generally well-reviewed, and recommended for multiple types of paint and ink work.

This blogger really likes their brush basin.

That is probably all you need to know about the Brush Basin. A different subject, and one perhaps more relevant to most people’s experience, is why it took seeing a stack of brush basins in an art store in Cornwall for me to appreciate the magnitude of my father’s effort and accomplishment? Speaking more generally, why has it taken me years to fully appreciate the care and opportunity that both of my parents provided me? As much time as my father devoted to addressing the inadequacies of the jars and cans painters had long used in caring for their brushes, he certainly had time and attention for my sister and me. Later, he had time for his grandchildren, two of whom he mostly raised. As did my mother. In this I suppose they were not exceptional, most parents probably do the best they can for their children. Likewise most adult children probably do their best to care for their aging parents as they in turn need time and attention. Laura and I cared for our four parents as they needed help; we were able to do so and there was no one else who could. We had lots of good helpers. Both my parents made it clear to me how much they appreciated the care we provided for them. I know from years of doctoring that there is no end to caretaker guilt; you could always have done more, spent more time, been more patient. I know we did a fairly good job for our parents, but I still have some regrets. I wish I had taken just a few opportunities to say, “I had a great childhood. Thanks so much for being great parents. Thanks for the dog, thanks for college, thanks for so many things.”

Harrison Linger