Empty notebook

I am not a timid person. Well, maybe I am, to most people at least. I prefer to stay quiet, to observe. As an observer of culture, art, and fashion watching is what I do best. This talent is second only to note taking. Growing up teachers praised my note taking, often holding  my notes up to display as the class example: thorough, net, efficient. When writing, I am perhaps at my most bold. The most intimidating part about writing is starting a new notebook, particularly when it is a special notebook. Moleskins, while expensive, are usual writing surfaces because they are easily replaced and can be purchased nearly anywhere. Even so, my timidity gets the best of me and, out of caution, I often leave the first few pages of a notebook blank.

In regards to this notebook, it was purchased a few years ago at the Tate Modern in London. I bought it originally as a place to draw, but I have many times been intimated by the blank page and inherent irreplaceability of the object and thus have not yet written in it. For whatever reason, this silly and rather ugly notebook has remained in my possession every once in a while being taken out, stared at, and returned to the bookshelf.

It is my hope that whomever chooses to adopt it will fill its pages with drawing or writing to their heart’s content.

— hand delivered in New York City

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