I haven't felt the urge to write in a while. Silence has become such a way of life for me over the past 10+ months, that nothing i experience or feel as a direct result of my living and observing it, seems unusual or worthy of documentation anymore.
We human beings devote most of our attention to that which is new and different. It doesn't matter if it is wonderful or horrific, as long as it's novel. Often, when we get used to something, it loses its hold over us.
When i am working on a new artwork, i thrive and face every challenge it presents with a fearless drive that i lack in my approach to all other aspects of my life. But when the artwork is completed, i want nothing more to do with it, i want it out of my sight. My mind becomes fixed on making something else, something different, something better.
In everything but the pursuit of Art, i am extremely methodical and almost pathologically adverse to change. Because this year of silence started as art and changed into day to day life, i have become ambivalent about it. A part of me is done with it and ready to move on, while the majority of my being dreads shattering the quiet and wants to stay enveloped in it indefinitely.