Jim Manson

I like Moleskine notebooks for the same reasons everyone else does. They look purposeful, artistic and handsome. 

There’s just one problem. I buy a normal notepad or sketchbook, I start scribbling away. But the Moleskine sits there with its lovely wrapper and explanatory leaflet (Classic Hard Cover, built-in elastic closure, cloth ribbon placeholder, expandable accordion pocket for holding tickets, notes and clippings) demanding that you fill its first page with something much more profound than ‘Things to get at Homebase’, or a five minute sketch of next door’s conservatory (done at a recent low point of artistic stimulus). It calls out for something Chatwin- or Picasso-esque (the list of literary and artistic giants who ‘carried’ earlier iterations of Moleskine is intimidating in itself).  Hence the growing pile of pristine Classics, Volants and Cahiers.

When I do self-consciously get a Moleskine underway the jottings peter out a few pages in. I know I’m going to have to persevere, not least because there is a considerable investment tied up in these unused Moleskines (Father’s Day, Christmas and birthdays will bring more).

So the other morning I went out into the garden and told myself “to hell if I write something trite or ruin my new Moleskin with a crap drawing”. I sat down on our bench and drew next door’s conservatory and our lap-larch fence. It was crap and I knew it. I picked up my latest Moleskine and went back inside feeling just that bit more more artistically defeated.