un-believe the cultural narrative that cows willingly “give” us their milk, that chickens have no use for their eggs, that these animals aren’t made to suffer for what we take from them.
None of that is true.
What I’m about to write is a difficult thing for artists to face, because we’re the ones who are supposed to be seeing into the heart of the culture, testing out radical new ways of thinking and being and doing, and calling “bullshit!” whenever we see it. The truth is, though, that we are not nearly as open-minded as we like to think we are. How often do we say that something is “not for us” when we haven’t given it a chance? How often do we actually challenge the prevailing cultural norms? And what about all the times we look back over our thoughts and actions and feel a creeping shame at how little consideration we gave the needs and feelings of those around us?
If we truly want to grow as artists and as humans, we have to be willing time and again to look for the kinder, more responsible, more loving way, especially when that way is not the convenient one. As artists and innovators, it is our responsibility to offer a reasoned critical response to the dominant culture, and the most fundamental expression of culture is food.
Creativity is so much more than putting marks to paper, and to fulfill our artistic potential requires more than a good eye, a sharp intellect, and a belief in one’s own capability. So, when I hear fellow artists talk of chronic anxiety, depression, and fear, that they need “comfort foods” like bacon and cheese to cope with these dark feelings, I want to tell them they’re confusing comfort with anesthesia. I want to tell them they’ll live longer, happier lives if they stop eating animal products, that world peace and environmental sustainability begin on their plates, that vibrant good health and rejuvenated creativity are the rewards for saying yes to the challenge of psychological growth. Here are just a few of the specific benefits I and other vegan artists have noticed:
•A growth mindset and innovative thinking outside the kitchen too.
•A greater sense of agency and resourcefulness. We feel emboldened to seek information even if what we learn suggests we revise our current modes of belief and action.
•We recognize the difference between empathy and lip service. As Ezra Klein points out in his podcast episode on veganism, “You don’t need to accept any new ideas to be horrified [at how farmed animals are treated]. You just need to believe the ideas you already accept.” The more fully we explore our capacity for empathy, the better our art.
•We’re more sensitive and perceptive. It becomes easier to hear what isn’t being said out loud (e.g., “I agree that eating animals is cruel, but I can’t change my diet because my partner won’t like it and I’m afraid to put stress on the relationship”).
•We’re braver versions of ourselves because we’re now willing to put words around what is inconvenient, contradictory, or patently untrue. Going vegan is a great way to begin overwriting the diffident people-pleasing demeanor that traditionally passes for “femininity” in our culture.
•Because we’re actively challenging the dominant paradigm, you might say we’re practicing true nonconformity—a quality artists are praised for yet seldom live up to.
•We have the mental and emotional wherewithal to work up to our potential. “So much energy goes into denial,” as visual artist Jane O’Hara puts it—denial of animal suffering, corporate greed, the socioeconomic injustice of the current food system, and so on.
Can I “prove” that veganism is the diet for optimal creativity? The proof’s in the pudding, for me.
Besides, what evidence does anybody have that an omnivorous diet is healthier, with all the scientific studies—those not funded by the dairy or livestock industries—that link the consumption of animal foods with heart disease, cancer, and other “diseases of affluence”? I’ve come to believe that self-deception is the most powerful impediment to creativity, and in the human experience there is nothing so delusional as the way we rationalize our treatment of animals. The moment one realizes one can opt out of this system may be the most transformative moment in the life of a human being, and that’s why writing this book on the benefits of this exuberant new life feels like the very least I can do.
In part I, we’ll examine some psychological “sticking points” I’ve collected from real artists, using the vegan ethos to offer specific ways to “unstick.” Some of these chapters get somewhat personal because I can’t write about creative anxiety without sharing my own experience.
Part II features informal conversations with vegan artists working in a variety of disciplines. In between, I walk my talk when it comes to trying new things, so you’ll read about my firsthand experiences (foraging and scuba diving and vegan hip-hop), novel ways of looking at old practices, and philosophical food for thought. I’ve also included a handful of recipes to fuel your creative work.
And in the back pages, you’ll find practical tips for transitioning to a vegan lifestyle as well as a comprehensive list of blogs, books, podcasts, and films I’ve found helpful and inspiring.
Veganism—a word coined by English animal-rights activist Donald Watson and his Vegan Society cofounders in 1944—is a lifestyle and philosophy dedicated to avoiding animal products as much as possible. As well as addressing very serious concerns regarding personal health and environmental sustainability, veganism promotes an awareness of the ways in which humans exploit our fellow sentient creatures for food, clothing, entertainment, and scientific research. Being vegan means removing yourself from this system of cruelty and domination.
I also want to share the most direct and heart-centered explanation of veganism I’ve ever seen (which I quote from one of
@the_vegan_soldier’s Instagram captions):
Vegans measure the worth of life by the existence of life and the will to continue that life. Wanting to live makes a species worthy of living.
We humans can’t exist without inadvertently causing suffering and death in some form—the crow who flies into the windshield, the insects and other organisms we crush underfoot—but we don’t have to do it on purpose.
How to Use Google to Learn about Veganism
Last summer I organized a picnic for a few friends at a park near my apartment, making a pot of vegan macaroni ’n cheese and folding in peas and tofu “bacon” bits. It was very tasty, if I do say so myself, and my omnivorous friends agreed.
“I’d have you over for dinner,” one of them said casually, “but I wouldn’t know what to feed you besides celery.”
Isn’t it funny how we pick up our phones to Google the most random things—“Where is the tallest building in the world?” “Are penguins monogamous?” and “Which film director has won the most Academy Awards?”—but we just shrug when it comes to “easy vegan recipes”?
Resourcefulness is an essential element of creativity, my friends. So, use Google for answers to the obvious questions:
Why do people choose not to eat or wear any animal products?
What are the health benefits of a plant-based
