Series: Between Noise and Silence PART 1 — When Noise Takes All the Space

When Silence Becomes a Space

The silence I speak of isn’t the absence of sound,


but the absence of what clutters the mind —

the noise of expectations, comparisons, and judgments.


It’s an inner stillness, fragile and shifting,

found not by shutting out the world
but by stepping back from the commotion,

even for a moment.

I can listen to music, an audiobook, or the wind outside-- it doesn’t matter.


This kind of silence doesn’t depend on the environment, but on intention:


the intention to create from a place that is honest and sincere,


without trying to please or conform.


It’s a form of active listening —


to what rises, even when it’s blurry, vulnerable, or uncomfortable.

To create, for me, is to return again and again to that place —
where the outer noise fades just enough
for a truer presence to emerge.

crop photo of a painting of mine representing two silver foxes, I always feel that it represent introspection and depth. I added a filter with a shadow on top I feel it adds to the atmosphere here.

PART 1 — When Noise Takes All the Space

The Need for Stillness

Creating isn’t only about mastering technique or choosing a subject.

It’s also — and perhaps most of all — about learning to listen to oneself.

Or rather, to decode oneself.

At some point, it became essential for me to find a place

where silence could exist —a place to breathe, observe, feel.

A place where something could surface

without being immediately explained, compared, or justified.

For that, I needed distance — physical and mental.

Silence offered the possibility to meet myself whole.

It brought the safety I needed for something genuine to appear —

the kind that doesn’t try to please,

but simply to be heard.

The Noise

Noise begins with the voices of critics, comparisons,

and the constant push to do more, to do better.

But mostly, it’s the inner voice that takes it all in —

the judge, the critic, the perfectionist.

That voice interprets, amplifies, distorts.

It wants to please, to be seen, to be validated.

It’s ready to betray my values

just to fit someone else’s expectations.

It pushes me to do instead of feel,

to perform instead of explore.

It gives the illusion of control —

the right idea, the perfect light, the flawless gesture.

But beneath that control hides a fear:the fear of being seen —

too real, too raw.

So we adjust. We polish.We erase

what feels unsettling.

And little by little,we move away from what once burned at the beginning.

The Silence

Then comes silence.

The one I sometimes run from,

yet it always finds me —

because it’s the only way to truly ground myself.

At first, it disarms me.

It feels empty, uncomfortable.

But if I stay, something begins to unfold.

Silence becomes a spacewhere my tastes, intuitions, and inspirations

slowly rise to the surface.

It’s not always clear.

Sometimes it’s just a feeling, a color, a faint desire.

But that’s where I find the thread —my own.

Discomfort as Passage

Solitude, by definition, takes me away from others.

I once thought it would protect me from pain or unease.

Now I see it prepares me for them.

It helps me welcome every shade of my experience —

anger, sorrow, fear, and joy too.

It’s a space where nothing needs to be “fixed” right away.

Discomfort isn’t a mistake

;it’s the trace of exploration —

a sign I’ve stepped beyond the familiar,

into the territory where curiosity meets learning.

Anger as a Sentinel

Anger is often the first to arrive.

It guards my boundaries.

It appears when something in me hasn’t been heard —

when I’ve given too much of my studio time to others,

or let work, duties, and expectations invade

the space I was trying to protect.

I see it now as a form of protection.

It stands watch at the threshold of what wants to emerge.

It brings me back to myself.

When it knocks, it’s not a failure —

it’s a reminder.

A signal that it’s time to recenter.

Conclusion — Between Noise and Silence

I keep learning to navigate between noise and silence,

to recognize the moments when one suffocates the other,

and to stay attentive to my inner alarm —that anger, that subtle tension

that warns me something is out of balance.

Anger isn’t failure.

It’s a call to listen.

Because it’s often through anger

that I find my way back to silence —

and to the truth of my own voice.

Part 2: next month, stay posted