Eating the Hamburger
having nothing to say and saying it
Happy Friday sweet Bicycle Boys.
A few weeks ago, I wrote you and professed in The List my growing affection for Devendra Banhart —his music, his artworks, his philosophy of life. During the last weeks of long nights in the studio, I would listen to back-to-back interviews. My roommates and classmates had mostly gone home for the break and for some days in a row I didn’t speak to another person, and somehow I never felt lonely. It seemed I was listening to a friend share their innermost feelings about everything — making art, feeling stupid, addiction, Zen Buddhism, reading books, crafting a home, being vulnerable, the splendours of love, and the weight we may feel as artists and as people to make something important, meaningful, and necessary.
In one interview, he shared a quote from John Cage which has come to serve as a rich salve for my soul.
“I have nothing to say and I am saying it.”
I have nothing to say and I am saying it.
I have nothing to make and I am making it.
I have nothing to do and I am doing it.
I have nothing to be and I am being it.
I had been oscillating between the feeling that my art could be good or meaningful, even, and that it was useless trash, a waste of time, resources, and occupation of space.
This dance can dominate any art I try to create. The feeling finds its way into the newsletter, even. I know my heart opens when I write, I know that I make sense of life through words, and I know that the people who give their time to this space genuinely like to do so. And still, a fear creeps in. The fear of wanting to be liked by all, to not ruffle any feathers, to write succinctly, with meaning, to address pertinent issues, the political and the personal. My best work yet, every time.
The format of a weekly newsletter doesn’t allow for one’s best work, all of the time. It allows for real work, live work. Semi-polished, half-baked thoughts have a chance to escape the box of my brain and find you, hopefully in a good way or at the right time. I try to channel clearly — to get out of the way of what wants to be said, or shared. But I often find myself standing in the middle of the path.
Yesterday, we were cycling to the edge of the city and Sofia said she loved to hear the rushing waterfalls and creeks under us, the ice finally melted.
“It’s like the water is laughing!” She said over the sounds of the water flowing, free from the shackles of winter. And yet, we realized, ice and water are of the same stuff. Perhaps we, too, seal ourselves off in a similar fashion to a half-frozen river, bound by time and a larger elemental force. Yet, neither the river nor the ice apologize for this. They are ever-renewing, the cycle constantly completing, and we catch ourselves in the middle of it and don’t ask for it to be different or better.
John Cage was an incredible composer. A revolutionary artist in so many ways. If he was saying nothing, it certainly feels like something. His work titled 4’33 is a four-minute and 33-second long silence. Still, his presence persists, and the listener imbues meaning. We fill in the gaps. This is something.
Even at this very moment, dear reader, I look at my screen and see AI tools embedded into my word processor. Their recommendations underline every other sentence, highlighting misspelled words and awkward turns of phrase. I see the option to have this page entirely rewritten by a computer, just for you. I could ask the computer to say all of this more empathetically, with greater clarity, with spunk, with sass, more casually, professionally. ChatGPT can make me funnier. It could draw this out or clean it up for you. It is a strange grief to witness this seemingly unstoppable force. But it doesn’t make me want to stop. It doesn’t paralyze me.
A few days ago, a group of us met in a circle to share what's been on our hearts and minds. We’ve been doing this every few weeks, under auspicious phases of the moon, and many moments of clarity and relief and grief and laughter have surfaced in the circle. A central theme often emerges organically. This time, somewhat surprisingly, it was about being a fledgling artist during the era of AI. All of us work or study in the creative field as graphic artists, ceramicists, designers, and writers. One bright attendee, Victoria, shared her thoughts on the matter;
“I love hamburgers. And just because a machine can eat a hamburger faster… doesn’t mean I am going to stop eating hamburgers. Because I love eating hamburgers.”
Yes. Brilliant.
I love making art. Just because a machine can also make art, or another person can say the same things with a better knowing, or a greater clarity, doesn’t mean I am going to stop trying. I am going to do what feels good, and what feels right, because it's in my nature. Because it is what I can do. I’ll keep showing up, eating that hamburger, saying what feels like nothing in the hopes of feeling something. I’ll hear music in the rushing of a river, and be awoken by the applause of rain on leaves and know the trees are proud of us for sleeping in. I will see beauty in the mundane, the political in the personal. When I feel grief swelling over innocent blood on a box of flour as I am making my dinner, I will eat every last grain of rice in my bowl. I will eat until I am full. I will eat because it gives me the energy to go and read and learn and try again.
I wish the same for you. Eat, eat!
The List! - a segment for sensory exploration
5 sights:
This Sylvia Plath quote. Wondering; which day in March, Sylvia? Which day?
more words on March from Mary Oliver’s “Worm Moon”:
this setup… feeling like a Southeast Asian family on the back of a moped:
and the sparkles on a set of eyelids I love
the altar of the moon circle… a beautiful candelabra and a silken sheet as the centrepiece <3
4 feelings:
a reluctant, overdue awakening from my own hibernation
an overwhelming sense of nostalgia and solastalgia?
I’ve been listening to a lot of Alvvays. The other night I played all of their KEXP interviews/shows and had the most lovely time. I was brought back to a dish pit in 2014, hiding away in the back room, avoiding the other closing duties, a phone in a metal cup to amplify the sound, my friend Lauren showing me this cool new band and life never being the same.
I was brought to some time in 2017, singing “Time to Let Go…” from In Undertow, wandering the shores of the island I called home. Some months later, in spring, staring at the cherry blossoms littering the sidewalks, walking hand in hand with my boyfriend, as he sang their lyrics intentionally out of tune, all stuck in our heads from attending their live show the night before
Now its Blue Rev blasting, me yelling Tile By Tile in the shower, and feeling overwhelmed with the urge to make art and open my heart as wiiiiide as I can!
Thank you, Lauren, for introducing me all those years ago, if by some chance you are reading this. <3
the pavement growing bumpy. flat tire! bummer!
annoyed by Grammarly — let me make my mistakes, I want it messy, I want the sentences all fucked up!
3 sounds:
Simon and Garfunkel for three hours while making lunch… windows wide, rain falling heavy
my breath moving rapidly, trying to catch it, as I climb the hill on my bike for the first time in many months. Bicycle Boy is back and is super out of shape!!!
Some Sufjan Stevens…. all things go, all things go
2 smells:
our kitchen which has transformed into a florist. we found maybe 15 bouquets and some sweet potted flowers in the garbage this week. <3
a stick of Palo Santo, burning next to me, as I write you this list
1 taste:
a thick layer of butter on my toast. I’ve heard tht you aren’t truly buttering the bread unless it's like a layer of cheese. I tried and I maybe agree.
Songs you heard in the Voiceover:
Intro: Not For Me - Blonde Redhead
Transition: Kungo Sogoni - Nahawa Doumbia
Outro: Tile By Tile - Alvvays
Thanks so much for all of your support — to the Bicycle Boys far and wide.
"Eat, eat!"
This is what I needed to hear this week.
Thanks Morgan, sending you lots of love.
Moogie