Silence , like emptiness, has many forms. There is the silence of resentment, the silence of awe, the silence of anger, of not understanding, of peace, of coming storm, of rock and water, of crowds and of solitude.
He might think to comment and list his own achievements. But what could he say that they would understand? Painting has shaped his life. It’s not something he does; it’s who he is. To comment to the chatting aristocrats would be to cheapen his life, and reduce it.
-kent meyers, the witness of combines
This picture reminds me of the silence of solitude. What kind of silence do you think of?