Mixtapes, BlackBerries, and the origins of Worse

When I started sharing art with the world, my one-liner was "glitch art, zines, collages, and worse by Joel Becker." This is a reference to Gary Larson's final collection of his Far Side cartoons, titled The Last Chapter, and Worse. I've always enjoyed that title, and I like my blurb for the same reason. It's easy to take your self and your art too seriously (at least it is for me) and I like leading with something that feels playful and unserious.

But over time I've found a lot of meaning in Worse and found that it connected many aspects of my creative practice, including the "what" (glitch aesthetics, retro technology) and the "why" (resisting the attention economy). The case for Worse is my attempt to pull these threads together in a way I can share. It's not a manifesto — I've tried manifestos, and find them more paralyzing than clarifying. It's closer to a letter of intent. "This is some of who I am. This is some of what I'm trying to do."

When I think about my intent for Worse Ink, I think of my mantra that I used to close The case for Worse: "make the real world more interesting than the digital one." My current creative practice was born out of a need to distance myself from addictive digital technology. I started making mixtapes so I could listen to my favourite songs and still take a phone break, and made collage art covers to match the vibe. The more I made the more exciting it became, and eventually this practice led to collaging for the sake of it, making zines, exploring glitch art, and coming to identify as an artist.

Mixtapes are a worse medium than digital for accurately and conveniently reproducing music. But they are better for me, because the mixtape is a medium for self-expression and a format that let me give the love of music my undivided attention.

Meanwhile, I was also working on my internet addiction by changing how I used digital technology. I tried every strategy available to curb my phone use: grayscale filters, app timers, parental control passwords, and more. What I was trying to do was create a system that I could rely on when my willpower failed; but ultimately, none of these things were strong enough guardrails to actually make a difference when I desperately wanted a distraction.

The thing that finally worked was benching my modern smartphone and getting a BlackBerry from 2014 with only the most basic features available (SMS, phone, calendar, podcasts, and MP3s). I've since upgraded to a BlackBerry Key2 from 2018 (it has GPS and Beeper) but my BlackBerry Classic experiment reset my relationship with my phone. I had functionally done Cal Newport's "digital declutter" from his great book Digital Minimalism, where he suggests removing all digital technology except for the bare essentials, and then slowly re-adding apps and services only if they serve a core value in a way that is not possible with a low-tech alternative. Following this rule I have texting, GPS, music, podcasts, camera, and utilities on my phone — but I've drawn a hard line on infinitely scrolling feeds, videos, and games (with the exception of daily word games).

My BlackBerry Key2 has fewer features than my old smartphone, and my BlackBerry Classic has fewer still. But they are better for me because, for the first time in years, I feel like I am using my phone, not the other way around

Mixtapes and BlackBerries show how choosing to use "worse" technology has given me a better life. And while both replaced a new technology with an old one, they represent two different ways of centering the real world: making the real world more interesting, and making the digital world less interesting.

But the thing about mixtapes and BlackBerries is that they are personal choices. And as the digital world has grown it has also taken over our social and communal spaces. I have benefitted a lot by distancing myself from online spaces. But as I create more things, and aspire to share them with more people, I've needed to ask myself hard questions about how to reach new people while still staying true to the digital asceticism that has been core to developing my creative practice and protecting my peace of mind. This is why The case for Worse is a statement of intent and not a manifesto; because I know that I'm entering into a space of contradiction, where intentionality will help me find my way but doctrine will paralyze me.

Worse Ink lives in that space of contradiction. It is part of the digital world, but its mission is to share the things I've created to make my real world more interesting: zines, art, puzzles, collages, games, stickers, curiosities, and worse.