ORIGINAL POST DATE: March 15, 2006

Following is the post I wrote that first appeared on March 17th, 2005 on the Moleskinerie weblog. This post was the birth of the blogging bug for me, although it wasn't until many months later that I started my own blog here. I am posting this in time for St. Patrick's Day to celebrate a bit of Irish in the Italian recreation of a French original: The Moleskine.

A great deal of my creative inspiration originates with the manuscripts of early medieval Ireland. Perhaps the best known example is the Book of Kells, which reigns supreme among the elaborately illuminated manuscripts from that era. These decorated books are typified by mind-boggling details, swirling spirals, elaborately complex knotwork patterns, and undecipherable letterforms. These images burst off the vellum pages and stand apart from other illuminated manuscripts of that time period as a unique creative expression reflecting many of the cultural complexities of the early history of Ireland.

Strangely though, my imagination has been completely captivated by a comparatively small, unadorned assemblage of odd sheets of vellum called The St. Paul Irish Codex (or more formally: MS: Unterdrauberg, Carinthia, Kloster St. Paul 25.2.31). This manuscript was the personal notebook of an Irish scribe working in the early ninth century, most likely in the scriptorium at Reichenau, an island monastery on Lake Constance located between Germany and Switzerland. It contains no color other than the deep brown of the ink, and no illumination of any kind, yet it seems to me to reveal more about at least this one personality behind the long labor of creating illuminated manuscripts.

This un-named monk assembled what discarded pieces of vellum he could gather together and used his notebook to jot down interesting text he came across in his daily work (incidentally, the size of this notebook is very close to a large size Moleskine). Written in a very tight script you will find bits of grammar, animal lore, an incantation, and an endearing poem in Old Irish about a monk and his cat named Pangur Bán, all on the same page. Throughout the other pages of the notebook are excerpts written in Greek, an astrological table, and notes on logic, metaphysics and etymology, among other topics.

How, you wonder, does this relate to the modern day Moleskine? Well in its own way, the St. Paul Irish Codex is a very well preserved example of the centuries-old need to organize one’s thoughts on the written page. In the very same way that most of us today cobble together threads of ideas, quotations, and excerpts from our favorite writers between the pages of our Moleskines, this ninth century scribe created a small portrait of himself in the handwritten notebook he left behind. His interests, reflected in small fragments of an impressively wide range of subjects, reveal much when taken together as a whole. None of what he collected was written in the first person – all the words originally belonged to someone else – but collectively they became his own.

Much has been made of the Irish contribution to Western society, so by comparison, giving an Irish monk credit for inventing the Moleskine does not seem that excessive. I do know that the process I go through filling my own notebooks can similarly be found in this otherwise ordinary looking manuscript created just over 12 centuries ago. How much of ourselves can be perceived between the lines of our own notebooks? When I read between the lines of the St. Paul Irish Codex I am inspired by the presence of a living man long turned to dust who continues to speak through his handwritten pages.