Zen and the Art of Anagrams with author and painter Brad Phillips
"If I’m going to be thinking against my will 24/7, then I might as well use some of it to my advantage."
VANCOUVER – Before our interview, Brad Phillips joked that he only sounds smart in 40-minute intervals. He said this after I mentioned that I usually connect with people over FaceTime because Zoom caps the conversation at 40-minutes. 40-minutes before I have to disconnect or upgrade my free account. It happened during my conversation with Kate Lindsay. Threw off my flow. I’ve tried to avoid the platform ever since.
But Brad doesn’t seem to mind; and so, today, neither do I.
In a way it seems like a fun challenge, a conceit to hang the interview on. Two people, racing against the clock. Trying to find enlightenment within an allotted time period. If that doesn’t make for a good newsletter, I don’t know what will.
It helps that Brad is the shit. His paintings are funny and fucked up, sardonically incorporating cultural nostalgia, conventional weapons, and comedic catchphrases (“What doesn’t kill you makes you start podcasting”) to great effect. His writing, which can be found across the internet, is equally intriguing, with the artist documenting the strangeness of common life in astute and sometimes bewildered detail.
Today’s conversation will follow a similar track with Brad copping to a secret Scrabble addiction, reflecting on hypnotherapy, and talking about the sometimes titillating aspects of his craft, among other things.
I click into the meeting and find him waiting.
The artist is present.
Start the clock.
ES: It’s funny, when we were emailing, I said we could talk about anagrams, but I really meant to say acronyms, because you use them in your art sometimes. Do you have strong feelings on anagrams or acronyms?
BP: Anagrams. I’m supposed to be writing something right now for The Paris Review about Scrabble. It sounds ridiculous but I played high-level Scrabble for 20 years, you know?
ES: Really?
BP: Yeah. Laughs.
ES: What does high level Scrabble look like?
BP: It looks really nerdy. 22 years ago, my friend told me about this website that’s hosted in Romania, where people play professional Scrabble online. I started playing there, obsessively. Then I played in some tournaments when I moved to Vancouver. There’s a Scrabble club here in New York – me and my wife became members, but I feel too intimidated to go because the people are really good. They play Scrabble all day long, and they travel the world playing in tournaments.
ES: My family is pretty into word games. I’m kind of the black sheep because I don’t play them at all. My grandma played Words With Friends on Facebook up until she died. She would cream you every single time.
BP: My grandma is the one who got me into Scrabble. I started to get better than her. She was a sore loser. She would accuse me of making up words, so I stopped playing with her. There’s this guy, Nigel Smith, who’s from New Zealand. Last year he won the national Scrabble competition in France. He doesn’t even speak the language, he just memorized every word in the French dictionary.
ES: Oh my god.
BP: It’s really nerdy.
ES: I appreciate you telling me all this. It’s not Scrabble, but I would play in Yu-Gi-Oh! tournaments growing up… I know there can be some weird shame about the whole thing.
BP: I guess I do feel a little embarrassed. Every morning I wake up and I play probably 15 games of Scrabble on my phone in a half hour. I play three minute games. I can play an entire game in under a minute.
ES: Remind me, is Scrabble one of the ones where you have a go-to opening word? Like, something you start the game with?
BP: No, you get 7 random letters and you have to make a word out of them. You just build it out from there. It’s really nerdy.
ES: Bro, I love this. Do you know a lot of Q-U words?
BP: Oh, yeah, I know all the words. There’s so many two-letter words and three-letter words that are crazy. Like, “Q-I” is a word. I know every Q word that’s in the dictionary. And the Scrabble dictionary is huge, because all that they require is that a word has to appear in an English dictionary. There’s medical words, slang words, just so many words.
ES: What is it about Scrabble for you?
BP: The thing is, it’s not really a word game, per se. It’s more like math and probabilities. It’s not as if someone who likes reading or writing will necessarily like Scrabble. It’s not that type of game. I think it has more to do with some mental affliction; it’s very habitual and obsessive.
ES: Do you feel like you’re an obsessive person?
BP: Yeah. Laughs.
ES: In what way?
BP: If I’m interested in anything, I become an expert in it, and I learn everything that there is to know about it. I’m the opposite of a dilettante. Everything I do is self-taught. I don’t do anything halfway. I just become as good as I can possibly be, or as knowledgeable as I can possibly be.
ES: Do you feel like you’re doing that now with writing? Obviously, you’re pretty passionate about books – you’ve painted them before.
BP: Not really. I published a thing a little while ago about how I’ve met so many young writers recently, who are in their 20s or 30s, who just haven’t read books. My wife and I talk about it all the time. I think that the craft and history of things are important. I’m really well read, I’ve read everything you’re supposed to read… Even before I started writing, I was always reading. And I meet people who describe themselves as writers who haven’t read Nabakov or whoever. Like, really? It’s bizarre. I’m kind of judgmental about it.
ES: I feel like I’m an omnivore when it comes to reading. I love books, but I also think great magazine articles or essays count too.
BP: For sure. It’s actually been quite a while since I’ve been reading fiction. I read a lot of it when I was younger, but now I’m usually reading something else.
ES: What was your go to source for books when you lived in Vancouver?
BP: Pulp Fiction, on Main Street. It’s so good. I love Christopher. I miss him. I used to go there all the time.
ES: Did you live around there when you were in Vancouver?
BP: I lived in Strathcona. I lived at East Pender and Dunlevy for maybe six years, and then I moved to Heatley and Keefer for the rest of my time there.
ES: East Van boy.
BP: Yeah. Where do you live?
ES: We’re in the weird no-man’s land that is just south of Kits. Like, south of West Broadway. It’s technically Kitsilano, but there’s less beach and a lot more boarding houses. And French people.
BP: My therapist was in Kitsilano. I went there once a week for 11 years.
ES: How’s therapy going, since you brought it up?
BP: Therapy is always a good idea.
ES: Have you ever done hypnotherapy? I did that earlier this year.
BP: I actually did it for the first time last year.
ES: It’s cool hey. Did you only do it one time?
BP: Yeah. I liked it. It wasn’t covered under my insurance, and I didn’t have much money. I thought I would try something different. I’d been hypnotized in the past for specific things, like to quit smoking. I had a really crippling fear of flying my whole life and in 2000 I had this guy hypnotize me in Toronto to help deal with it. But I’d never done it for pure therapy before.
ES: Would you say you’re susceptible to hypnosis?
BP: I don’t think I’m one of those people who’s easily hypnotizable… But I can definitely be hypnotized.
ES: I’m extremely susceptible.
BP: Really?
ES: Yeah. The few times I’ve done it, my therapist has gotten me to stare up at the ceiling as she induces me or whatever, and she says my eyes go up to where my third eye should be, and that it’s instantaneous.
BP: That’s wild. Last year I was reading a book about Sirhan Sirhan, the guy who was convicted of murdering Robert F. Kennedy. He was one of those people who was really hypnotizable. I wish I was. But also, my experience with it, and maybe it’s the same for you, is that I don’t really feel like I’m hypnotized.
ES: I think there are misconceptions about hypnosis. People tend to think of it like you are ceding control of your body or mind, and it’s really not that at all. It’s just being open to suggestions.
BP: The place I went to in 2000, it was in this medical arts building. Really old guy, this hypnotherapist. He was like a caricature. Big, white curly hair. He had this shitty office with a sofa and a chair and a dead plant. And in the corner of the room he had stacks and stacks of empty cigarette packages because people would come in with their last pack of cigarettes and leave them behind. It was like the history of Canadian cigarette design. There were packages that were no longer in circulation, right up until the present day. It was incredible.
I went two times and I think he had made some kind of strange suggestion to me, because to this day, whenever I go on a plane, I cannot remember the flight afterwards.
ES: That’s such a trip. I imagine you flew to Vancouver no problem then?
BP: No, it was magical. Ever since he hypnotized me all my fear of flying vanished. If there’s turbulence and people are freaking out, I feel fine. But yeah, I don’t really remember the flight to Vancouver.
ES: So cool. My hypnosis wasn’t as effective as yours, but it’s still completely changed my perspective on things and has really helped with my anxiety. Like, what if things are going to work out the way they’re supposed to?
BP: I’m with you. I have so much anxiety. Maybe I should get your therapist’s number.
ES: One thing I thought about while preparing for this, is that a lot of the writing other people have done about your art centres on mental health, and the idea that you’re dealing with heavy topics like depression. But I find a lot of your work quite funny, and I wonder if the art media is getting you wrong? It contains so much levity.
BP: Thank you. I think I’m funny, and I hear that I’m funny from people that I think are smart. Maybe it’s difficult for people to hold both ideas at the same time; that someone could be serious and funny. So people just focus on the serious. I would always prefer to be funny than serious.
ES: It’s also possible that you and I share the same sort of fucked up world view.
BP: That makes sense too. I did this ketamine-infusion therapy last year. The first time I went, they gave me so much ketamine and I didn’t feel anything. The administrator told me that people who are new to psychedelics would feel very under the influence. I’ve done psychedelics so it didn’t feel like anything. I think it’s a similar thing. If you’re a person who is prone to depression or anxiety, that’s your baseline, and maybe you’re more attuned to what I find funny.
ES: Your work sort of reminds of Larry David or Larry Charles.
BP: That’s good. I’ll take that.
ES: Up close it’s funny, but when you zoom out you can see that it’s fucked up. It tickles me for whatever reason.
BP: You can talk about serious things and still have a funny delivery. Ultimately, it’s still serious.
ES: Last night’s show included some pieces that reference The Looney Tunes. What is your relationship with Bugs and co.?
BP: I don’t know, I just love them. I’ve watched them my whole life, and there’s so much crazy shit out there. So much crazy Looney Tunes stuff. I didn’t realize there’s a lot of stuff that wound up getting banned. There’s a lot of suicide in the Looney Tunes. There’s an episode where Daffy Duck blew his brains out, which is what one of my pieces references. It’s so dark.
ES: Can’t say I ever saw that one. But I remember “Rabbit Season, Duck Season” being one of the funniest fucking things I’ve seen in my life.
BP: I’m old now and I still find it entertaining. That stuff is great. It’s so funny.
ES: How old are you?
BP: 49.
ES: Oh, that’s not old. You’re just getting into the good stuff.
BP: Okay, thank you.
ES: I read the piece where you interviewed yourself during the pandemic. It reminded me of Charlie Kauffman. It was really meta.
BP: Was that for The Believer magazine? I wouldn’t say he’s an influence but I think he’s really good and smart.
ES: I toyed with the idea of doing something like that for this very newsletter but I could never figure out how to do it.
BP: You have to be obsessed with yourself and be a narcissist and then it’s no problem. Laughs.
ES: I don’t think it’s narcissistic, really. But also all art is narcissistic to some degree. I really struggled with that fact when I started the newsletter. It felt so selfish.
BP: I feel like that too. It’s really gross to me, in a way, to ask people for money to read my writing.
ES: I know! Why is that?
BP: I don’t know. Some of it is low self-esteem, some of it is, for me, generational. This Gen-X bullshit idea of authenticity. Like, I could never ask my friends to pay to read a Substack so I just comp it for them. It’s weird. Working in the arts for so long, you’re in such a submissive position with galleries, that you start to feel like shit. Other people don’t have any problem asking to be compensated for their time or labour, but I do. [Editor’s note: The views reflected in this interview do not necessarily reflect those of Human Pursuits, or it’s operator]
ES: I’m trying to get better about it but I feel the same way.
BP: It’s a good question. Part of it is probably how we were raised.
ES: Maybe. Do you feel like that perspective keeps your art more “pure” – whatever that means. Like, you aren’t creating based on what you think will necessarily sell?
BP: I guess so, yeah. I try not to ever think about the money aspect. But it’s complicated because I also want to make some money. As far as Substack goes, the whole thing is new to me. I do feel like there’s no stakes, and I can write for the sake of writing.
ES: Do you feel like that’s different from how you approach painting, where you have a larger audience?
BP: Sometimes… The truth is no one has really told me what to paint. It’s all self-directed. I admire artists who create shows that are distinct from each other, or who are comfortable doing whatever they want and taking risks. I feel really good about the show that opened last night, even though the work is a lot different from previous work.
ES: I did want to ask, how has your process changed in recent years? The photorealism doesn’t seem to be there in the same way, is that intentional.
BP: It’s not the most intellectual answer, but I tend not to think about it too much. I do whatever feels interesting. The photorealism label never felt all that applicable to me. It was something other people would say, but I never identified with people who make photorealist work. That’s their thing, it’s never been my thing. I just do whatever feels natural.
ES: I think a lot of artists and creatives struggle to keep the receiver open. Do you ever feel that way?
BP: The receiver is open all the time, but sometimes there’s nothing to receive; nothing coming in. There’s long periods of time where I don’t make work. I know a lot of artists who are in the studio every day, but for me, more time is spent looking, reading, and thinking about stuff. Making work is not the main thing.
ES: What does that look like?
BP: Just reading or watching movies. Going to the gym. Really ordinary things. I think stuff needs to percolate… Over time it starts to cohere in my brain and something comes from it. But being in the studio every day doesn’t work for me. I need something to shake out of my head first.
ES: What’s the fitness routine looking like that at the moment?
BP: It looks great. I’m going to the gym every day.
ES: Laughs. Great answer.
BP: Yeah, sometimes I go seven days a week. But I’m going at least five or six. The gym is a block away from our house. In the past few years I’ve gotten really into weightlifting. And then my wife Cristine got into it. So we’re just building muscle and getting ripped in the gym.
ES: That’s great. Is it a high-end gym? Low-end?
BP: It’s a community gym. It’s on the fifth floor of a jewish community centre here. It’s cheap, 50 bucks a month. It’s an analogue for the YMCA but it’s not the YMCA.
ES: I love hearing about creative partnerships, and it seems like you and Cristine really feed off each other’s energy. I don’t want to call her a muse, but I’d love to hear more about that.
BP: Yeah that muse word is a rough one. I don’t like that. But last night someone asked if we had ever collaborated, or attempted to. We did a two person show in Los Angeles in 2019. When we met, I was doing a lot of text based stuff. Cristine was living in China and she had a lot of images of crazily translated shirts that she was seeing there. So we connected with that.
I don’t know how a collaboration would work. I think we have similar interests in things, and it helps to have a partner that you think is a good artist and who you trust. But our work is really different, too. I never thought I could be with another artist – what a nightmare – but it’s worked out well.
ES: Is she a sounding board for you?
BP: Not really, not with art. We’re both pretty confident in what we do. Maybe we’ll tell each other when we’re making things, we’ll ask for material advice. But in terms of ideas we’re both confident that we’re on the right track.
ES: I always joke that Leah is the boss of this newsletter. Almost nothing gets published without her reading it first, and she’s actually given me quite a few notes that have been helpful and have made me happier with the finished product.
BP: That’s great that you have that. I feel like Cristine helps me with writing, because it’s been newer to me. Oftentimes when I was working on writing a book I’d get her to read passages and she would give me good feedback. But mostly it was always that she liked it. She’s able to confirm any doubts I might have, or any enthusiasm I might have. She confirms what I’m already thinking.
ES: One thing I find daring about your work is its depiction of sexuality. I was wondering, what is it about sex for you?
BP: It feels good and it’s free. I only made that work for a couple of years. It was around the time I met Cristine. It felt like material I would never have thought to touch before, for some reason. But sex is a thing, it’s part of our lives. I didn’t see a lot of people at that time making work about sex so it just seemed like the thing to do. Like, you don’t see a lot of work about sports but why not?
ES: I think that’s why it struck me. Lord knows we don’t need more of a heteronormative viewpoint in society, however, I also think it’s interesting to see pieces like this, given you are a straight man, or at least straight-presenting, and we so rarely see men displaying intimacy like this.
BP: That’s good to hear. It felt more about intimacy than about sex, and it felt more about love than about sex. What was nice about those works, or when I write about sex, is that women would say that it was nice or refreshing or different. And that was good to hear. If I am going to make that kind of work, I do want it to be somehow different and to be interesting for women; not just to be titillating for men.
ES: I mean, I was definitely titillated but maybe I’m the key demo. Laughs.
BP: A little titillation is okay.
ES: Are there any books that have informed your artistic practice lately, or ever?
BP: I always feel like an asshole saying it but whenever anyone asks me about my influences I can never think of an answer. I feel influenced by the experience of being alive. It sounds corny, but maybe some Buddhist books or some Hindu books. Spiritual books have had influence on me and how I relate to my consciousness, my subconsciousness. But in terms of your question, not so much; I’m just a vacuum.
ES: As someone who is constantly in his head but doesn’t feel like a vacuum I find this fascinating.
BP: My brain does drive me crazy, but at the same time there’s a lot of good stuff in there. It helps to temper the discomfort to be able to pull things out of it that are comforting and that I can work with. If I’m going to be thinking against my will 24/7, then I might as well use some of it to my advantage. That’s the impetus behind making work about mental health. I might as well make it into material because it’s happening all the time.
ES: It also helps make your work feel relevant because we are fixated on mental health at the moment. It’s arguably never been more openly discussed.
BP: That’s been a really beautiful thing for me. A lot of times I’ve met people or had people write to me and say it’s been good for them to read something I wrote, or see my art, and that it makes them feel less alone or stigmatized. That’s not the motive behind any of my creations, but it is a nice byproduct.
I admire artists who create shows that are distinct from each other, or who are comfortable doing whatever they want and taking risks.
ES: I don’t always ask people about this, but I’d love to hear your perspective: what happens when we die.
BP: Oh boy.
ES: And I’ll remind you we have less than seven minutes left on this free Zoom call. Laughs.
BP: It’s funny you ask. For a long time I practiced Buddhism, but in the past year I’ve gotten really interested in Hinduism… I guess what happens when we die is that we’re free of this thing, which is so painful, and go back to where we’re supposed to be. I don’t really have any fear of dying. I have a fear of suffering and illness. But Cristine and I watched a documentary a little while ago about people who had near death experiences that was really comforting and beautiful. There’s an old corny expression that goes: we’re not human beings having a spiritual experience, we’re spiritual beings having a human experience. I just feel like all we are is consciousness. We spend some time in this body as an experience to have and once it’s over we go back to where we’re supposed to be, and there’s less suffering there. It’s probably really beautiful.
Brad Phillips is a painter and writer. He lives in Manhattan. Read and subscribe to his Substack here.