The “Moleskine” Part . . .
by Levi Crews
Moleskine notebooks are often lauded as the notebooks of Picasso and Hemingway; I think them to be mine. As junctions for simplicity and creativity, these pocket-size, leather-bound, age-old notebooks have been the source and habitat of much of my thinking. I have five moleskines, each dedicated to its own subject: The first for general notes, quotes, observations, etc.; the second for literary notes and annotations; the third—and the only one with grid-style pages—for notes and diagrams on economics and capital markets; the fourth for Spanish; and the fifth for Latin.
There is a certain unity in the appearance of moleskines that mirrors the intellectual unity of their contents. Of course, the subjects are diverse: I choose to fill mine with notes on language and philosophy and financial interaction, but others may fill theirs with sketches or science experiments or musical scores. Yet this diversity stems from a single seed: creativity. Each notebook is meant to be the berth of the genesis and evolution of ideas, a place in which a fragile thought can be examined without breaking it or a wild dream can be pursued without taming it.
Such a forum for testing and probing new ideas is exactly what this age needs—a moleskine in which the world community can compound the creativity of each member with that of another. Although one, ponderous tome is impractical—an unfortunate fact, for pen and paper fit nicely with my idyllic tastes—an internet-based Petri dish for intellectual experimentation is relatively simple to forge, assuming experimenters would choose to participate. If Moleskine’s Philology had a goal, it would be to begin constructing the frame of our much-needed forum. Fortunately, inspiration is Moleskine’s guide; it is not meant to achieve a specific purpose—although it may become successful accidently.