
The Sunday Letter #2
Last night, I attended LUGO, an art event at the Remai Modern gallery, featuring delicious food, Picasso prints, and moving performances across all three levels of the gallery. In the theatre, an artist had set up voice booths across the seats and speakers on the stage, through which listeners could hear what was being spoken in the booths. Nervously, I stepped into a booth and was greeted by prompts such as, “What is the funniest thing you’ve ever done?” or “Who is the person you dislike the most, and what is a reason they might deserve tenderness and care?” I spoke gingerly into the microphone, wondering if anyone could hear me. Afterwards, I stepped onto the stage, leaning into the speakers shaped as tentacles, trying to hear the distant voice of strangers whispering their secrets into a void. The tentacle speakers transmitting the secrets onstage were wrapped in soft pink feathers which one had to hold against their face in order to hear, and the effect was a soft, sensuous, and nearly taboo experience between strangers. Arriving home with sore feet and a raspy voice from speaking over the music, I went to sleep in a dreamy daze.
This week’s recommendations

This week, I treated myself to a Greta Gerwig double feature with a rewatch of Frances Ha, followed by Mistress America, and cemented both as future comfort watches. As cowriters, Gerwig and Baumbach are adept at portraits of creatives, whether it is Frances grappling with growing up and letting go of the fantasies she had for her life, or Mistress America’s Tracy coming to terms with her exploitation of others in search of a life of her own. Throughout both films, Gerwig’s natural charisma keeps both films grounded across nimble dialogue in which self-interested characters (“There’s nothing I don’t know about myself; that’s why I can’t do therapy”) talk at and past each other in half-responses, never fully engaging with the other. Yet neither film dips far into pessimism, with Gerwig’s sunny outlook providing a warm sheen to the aforementioned grounded-ness of both films. Even with quippy dialogue (“It’s weird that somebody that studies rocks can be really into Jesus”) and absurd characters, a warmth remains, a credit to the writing and the delicate friendships at the heart of both stories.
Frances: And we’ll have lovers.
Sophie: And no children.
Frances: And we’ll speak at college graduations.
Sophie: And honorary degrees.
Frances: So many honorary degrees!
Female friendship is so tenderly portrayed in both films — I still get a sinking feeling, re-watching Frances Ha, as Sophie starts to pull away from Frances, whose own devotion to Sophie clouds her ability to recognize it. In Mistress America, Brooke tells Tracy, “You make me feel really smart,” though it’s Tracy that sees Brooke as a gateway to a more exciting life.

Brooke: I think I’m sick, and I don’t know if my ailment has a name. It’s just me sitting and staring at the internet or the television for long periods of time interspersed by trying to not do that, and then lying about what I’ve been doing. Then I’ll get so excited about something that the excitement overwhelms me and I can’t sleep or do anything, and then I just am in love with everything but can’t figure out how to make myself work in the world.
Tracy: I think I have that too.
Not Strong Enough by boygenius, and constantly thinking of their Rolling Stone interview in which Lucy Dacus remarked, “Writing is how I talk to myself.”
New word of the week: apocryphal (a·poc·ry·phal) — a story of doubtful veracity, though widely circulated as being true.
Morrison and Davis! I’ll need to read this 🖤