Feed the world with light

Comfort for the Apocalypse, April 2024

Here on the west coast, the last few weeks have brought the sounds of spring stereophonically upon us. Returning Canada geese honk overhead, migrant California sea lions bark from their hunting grounds, and the seabirds have been noisily gathering to feast on the herring spawn washed up on our beach. After the dark quiet of winter, I am energized by these beings, who remind me that all is not lost. All is not lost as long as springtime comes to greet us once more.

“Then it was spring, and in spring anything may happen. Absolutely anything.” ~ E. E. Cummings

We are just past the equinox, which seems as good a time as any to emerge into this newsletter space again. Though I have felt an urgency to write these last few months, I haven’t had the patience to sit down and form something whole. My thoughts are incomplete on nearly every subject, and I do not feel equipped to weigh in on the apocalypse taking place in Gaza, which has sat like a stone in my hands these last months. My thoughts on any other subject are dust, or so it seems.

Last month, we hosted a musician at our home as part of the informal Birdsong songwriting residency. He and I got to talking over dinner one night about the paralysis that comes from absorbing world events via the screen and how the impotence one feels in the face of it trickles down into every aspect of life, our creative lives in particular. We freeze in the act of creation, afraid that any output might seem frivolous or out of place against war’s stark realities of starvation, disfigurement, and death. We might feel that unless we speak directly about the real crisis of climate change and species loss, we should not be speaking at all. To go public with our feelings and fantasies in the form of art invites an imagined criticism that we are not doing enough to change this collective trajectory. And so we go silent. At least I have to some degree.

Since that conversation, I’ve been thinking about that silence and what I must do to break it.

A number of years ago, I went to see The Gloaming, a band from Ireland that performs mostly in Gaelic. That show remains one of the great performances in my lifetime of seeing live music—their interweaving of poetry and soundscape and skilled use of dynamics had the audience breathless at times, leaning forward to hear the faint whispers one second, followed by the piano played like a hammer dulcimer in the next. Their show carried a soft sorrow, unlike anything I’ve encountered before, which spoke to me of all the troubles, the rupture of language and religion, and the disconnection from ancient rhythms that the people of Ireland and the world over have experienced through all space and time. Somehow, their music evoked the rise and fall of everything dear.

And it was there, in the darkened Chan Center, somewhere at the top of the second set, that I had something of an enlightenment experience during which I understood music for the first time in my life. Which sounds odd coming from a lifetime of playing and watching music played live, but something in that performance shook loose in me the realization that music is as essential to human existence as breath. That we cannot live without it because it is the most powerful tool we have to alleviate suffering. Whether it performs as a song of joy, a lullaby, a lament, or a rhythmic chant, music has the power to lift us out of ourselves and into that which drives our existence forward—the mystery to which we all belong.

Like all enlightenment experiences, my writing on this cannot capture the fullness of the understanding, but it’s not my aim here to do so. I expect some of you reading have had similar realizations when encountering music, artwork, writing, dance performances, and so on. It is through our creative work that we speak to one another, open doorways to other possible worlds, commiserate in our wounds, and celebrate our triumphs. What I could hear in the music of The Gloaming was the troubles, yes, but also the sounds we make in response to them. Sounds that move us into a greater connection with one another.

What I said to my musician friend at the dinner table the other night was what I believe. If we are so privileged to be out of the fray of war and disaster, the best possible thing we can do is feed the world with light. And by that, I mean being as good as we can be to one another, making work that is bigger than our small selves, and always exploring the edges of the better world that is possible. Through all of human history, a lot of which involves suffering, humans have mustered it in themselves to make works that have stood to inform those who came after. If previous generations of artists had waited until the wars were over to produce work, we would have very little with which to understand ourselves now.

I don’t credit the creative work I do as “art” because it is not a profession I pursue, but it nevertheless is fundamental to my daily life. A kind of breath that explores possibilities, finds new avenues, plays with language and colour. I have not spoken (or sung) out loud much lately, but I have never stopped writing or working in the various ways in which I express the something bigger than myself I am always trying to reach. Perhaps this doesn’t serve the world in the ways I wish it could, but it does help me sustain a positive orientation towards working with others and making our human connections ever stronger.

Scrawled on a sticky note stuck above my desk is a quote by Shane Koyczan which reads “If your heart is broken, make art with the pieces.” This is an instruction I take seriously; my silence serves no one.

Herring spawn on kelp. Broadview Beach, March 2024.

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April recipe: Morning glory breakfast cake

I’ve been on a healthy eating kick lately, but I still want to eat cake. This Smitten Kitchen recipe pretty much fits my needs these days. Though I’m not sure I’d eat it for breakfast, it’s definitely an afternoon snack kind of affair over here.

Ingredients

• 1 cup grated apple (from 1 medium apple)

• 1 cup grated carrot (from 1 thick carrot)

• 1/2 cup very well-drained crushed pineapple or chopped fresh pineapple

• 1/3 cup shredded, unsweetened coconut Finely grated zest of 1 lemon

• 2/3 cup raw or granulated sugar

• 2/3 cup neutral oil, such as canola

• 2 large eggs

• 1/2 teaspoon ground ginger

• 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

• 3/4 teaspoon kosher salt

• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda

• 1 1/4 cups all-purpose or whole-wheat flour

• 2 tablespoons toasted pumpkin seeds (pepitas)

Instructions

1. Heat your oven to 350 degrees F.

2. Coat an 8-inch square baking pan with nonstick cooking spray.

3. In a large bowl, combine the apple, carrot, pineapple, coconut, lemon zest, sugar, and oil. Add eggs, and whisk to combine. Sprinkle spices, salt, baking powder, and baking soda over the batter and stir very well to combine. Add flour, and stir just until it disappears.

4. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and smooth the top. Sprinkle pepitas over the cake.

5. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out batter-free. Let cool in the pan, then carefully cut into squares with a serrated knife.

6. The cake is very moist and a little crumbly. We find that it keeps best in the fridge. The cake will keep for 5 to 6 days, chilled.

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In the studio

There are so many rabbit holes in the studio these days! I’ve been doing a 100-day project that involves making a small watercolour painting or ink drawing every day (yesterday was Day 50), reading a ton of textile theory which I’ll likely write about here soon, and most recently, learning a bit about bookbinding. It turns out the functional maker in me *loves* bookbinding almost as much as weaving.

I finished this watercolour sketchbook on the weekend to take with me on a period of residential Zen practice later this month. There are fourteen pages (28 if I paint on the back of each), one for each day I am staying at the meditation house. I love being able to custom-make small writing, drawing, or painting books specific to their purpose; this is the obsession of the moment.

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Three things

1. Feed the Monster I think I’ve recommended this substack by B.A. Lampman before, but I wanted to bring it to your attention again, especially if you are a creative person who likes prompts and things to think about in your work. Feed the Monster now has a weekly offering called Taking Note, which includes ink drawings and journal prompts. I’ve linked right to the new workn so you can check it out easily, but also click around the rest of Feed the Monster for great artwork, creative insights, and inspiration.

2. Sonal Champsee has some advice for creatives doing their taxes, just in time for filing! (You should subscribe to get her great writing advice on a regular basis.)

3. The Morning Star and The Wolves of Eternity by Karl Ove Knausgaard These are the first two novels in a series and I read both of them in January. I am now trying to be very patient in waiting for the 3rd and 4th books to be translated into English (Knausgaard is a Norwegian writer). I have only a vague idea of where this narrative is going, but so far there are a lot of characters and loosely intersecting storylines that all revolve around the emergence of a new star in the sky. Perhaps it’s all just an allegory for climate change, but I suspect it’s heading to a more supernatural/

   apocalyptic place than that. Fantastic writing, and lots to think about.

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And finally

It’s been awhile. And I’m not kidding about not being able to wrap my head around writing. I’ve had terrible brain fog over the last few months, which may or may not be related to a possible thyroid situation I have going on (tests underway). In any case, I have missed putting out this newsletter so much. This connecting with other people through words thing ticks my boxes on some fundamental level, which I suppose is what keeps me returning to writing.

If you want to see more photos of my work and life, I am still posting on Instagram.

Thank you for inviting me into your inbox, as always!

Megan