There is something wonderfully humble, self-effacing and yet inspiring about the lowly pencil. I mean a proper pencil that needs sharpening, not that annoying torture device, the mechanical pencil with the ant leg thin leads that break just as one manages to insert it into the spider leg thin channel running down the middle. What a relief to turn back to the pencil of my youth. My father was an engineer and there were always Staedtler pencils scattered around the house. They spoke of decisiveness, mathematical precision and accuracy. And at the same time they declared, “Let me trace your imagination for you.” How I loved the colours of the Staedtler pencil with the authoritative royal blue, crisp ring of white and black cap. And I still do. What could be more meditative, more delightful than to insert the pencil into a pencil sharpener and crank away? What better way to follow pathways of inspirations than with a Staedtler pencil?