A fountain pen. A bottle of black ink.  A paper notebook. The feel of ink gliding from a metal nib. Old fashioned? Of course it is. Does it make me happy? Equally affirmative!

Writing with a pen, on paper; one of those pure & simple pleasures that takes you away from the world, both elegantly simple and functionally challenging.

You can’t just backspace and delete what you wrote, it’s there, in ink, to bear witness to your thoughts at that moment in time.

Mistakes are permanently etched; they can be covered with correction fluid, but not erased, only hidden.

A record of something written and scratched out. Relatively uneditable. But still somehow fragile.

There are no popups, no email notifications, no temptations, just you and your thoughts.

Ink on paper is free of the distractions that come with a keyboard and monitor.

Privacy of thought, no one looking digitally over your shoulder.

No sense of urgency, no regrettably sent messages.

Both permanent, and ephemerous.

Delightfully messy.





119 Photos in 2019 – 56. InkInk