Bouquets of Sharpened Pencils

A blank sheet of paper. A sharpened pencil. And nothing else.

I love the silence.

There's something about pencil and paper - something so basic, uncomplicated, simple. The swift strokes and lead scratching on the page remind you that anything's possible.

Ever needed to be free? Free from restraints, limitations?

In today's world when we'd rather click a mouse than click a pen, when a trip to the mailbox seems to far to check whether you're loved (even if it's just by the phone company), when typing pristine, ordered, homogeneously styled letters onto an impossibly white, pixilated representation of paper, seems like the best thing since sliced bread.

No effort. No strain. No waste of space or end to your resource supply. Almost everything that could once be accomplished with the byproducts of a tree can now be done electronically, through the magic of technology.

And I do mean almost everything.

Don't get me wrong. Technology is an amazing thing. I hardly need to detail its wonders and merits to you. Just look at what we're doing right now! There are countless things that would not be possible were it not for the geniuses at Microsoft and Mac.

But if you want freedom? Freedom of expression? A more direct translation? No limitations?

Paper.

Who can beat scribbling in the margins, pressing down on the page for emphasis, side notes, foot notes, drawings, effects? All achievable for the cost of paper and pencil. No training required, no need to find the font button or the table tool. No limitations on what you can draw, insert, write over, slash out. The pencil in your hand and the paper at your fingertips: it brings you closer to your creation.

Computers give you neat organization. Tidy rows of homogeneously styled and fonted letters which can be deleted, edited, moved, sized and emphasised at will. No doubt this is some people's saving grace (myself included, as my handwriting changes on a daily basis and mostly looks like the scratchings of a preschooler), but typed words lack the personality of the scribe.

When I sit down to write, it's possible that I can be neat, but unless I set my mind to it I usually come out with bad handwriting, several mistakes, and scribbles and smudges everywhere, most of which is illegible.

You can't stay neatly in the lines? Life doesn't either. It's messy and complicated. A margin note can make you laugh, a footnote will trip you up, and your silly looking doodle's will all congregate to party after you turn the page.

So the next time you sit down to write something, consider some tangible mediums. And even if you don't use them, take a moment. Take a look and drink in the feeling.

There's an art to it. It's almost as if you can see the beauty that lies within. Like a carver gazing at the beauty inside his marble, at the statue still inside that he only sees.

"In here I have ability. In here I have beauty. That is all that matters to me. If I never touch steel to this stone, then I will always have the beauty of what it could be, and that, can never be taken away from me."

Blank. Calm. Silence is beautiful. Anything's possible.