Something from Nothing.

That's the job description for gods and us as creators. Here, John Cage plays 4'33" by David Tudor.



"I have nothing to say, and I am saying it."

I agree with many of the comments on this video; also, for me, this piece evokes the ultimate inadequacy of all attempts at expression(/articulation) (although those attempts may be our salvation); the longing for space in which to hear one's self (as well as the need to narrow one's focus enough to hear the all-important background noise); the relief of a release from the burden of all of the foregoing, if only for a set time. All of that is too specific, but, I hope, suggestive.

The piece is very existential, I think; and I relate to it because I believe meaning is something we have to manufacture for ourselves, and we can do it out of almost anything, or nothing -- and that we must try to hold ourselves responsible for what we make.

Reminds me of a poem by Wallace Stevens (excerpt):

One sits and beats an old tin can, lard pail.

One beats and beats for that which one believes.

That’s what one wants to get near. Could it after all

Be merely oneself, as superior as the ear

To a crow’s voice?