The touch of a note book

I recently became a little obsessed by Ellis Rowan, the Australian illustrator who created a beautiful repertoire of birds, butterflies and insects, on paper.

More precisely, I became a lot obsessed by Ellis Rowan's note books. I wrote to the National Library of Australia, inquiring about the note books she used.

They didn't think I was demented. Not at all! They sent me photographs of MS 2203 (calling it a scrapbook, not a note book). MS 2203. They explained it was made of 'very simple nature', most likely bound in buckram cloth, about 23 x 27 cm in size, filled with newspaper articles about Ellis Rowan and her art, with some correspondence.

They pointed out, if I'm really keen, I could hire a local researcher to examine the scrapbook.

I considered it. But I probably wouldn't know what I was seeking. The touch and feel of the book. The weight of it, balanced in the hand. How the bound papers slip or move or shift as their weight lifts and settles them under the finger touch as you turn them. The handling, rough or smooth, of the bindings, the spine, the edges, the covers.

I believe that the sensory experience of a book we hold in the hand - one that whispers, 'use me, write in me, enjoy me!' is truly a moment of intimacy. Me, and You, delightful note book, together! In this moment, holding this book, the one I'm looking for to contain all my most important treasures - times of life, remembrances, significances - I'll know whether you're staying with me, or whether I can't give to you all the things in my head.

Perhaps Ellis Rowan thought the same? Perhaps she picked up each book, for notes, sketches, cuttings, doodles, jottings, and weighed it a moment in her hand, touched the texture of the paper, the strength of the binding, and knew this was the one, to hold butterflies.