When everyone screams, silence becomes the most eloquent sound.
The pause is always present in the gaps of discourse. Silence appears thanks to noise. The musician counts pauses while the soloist plays.
Four minutes and thirty-three seconds of pause. It is necessary to go through the white-on-white.
A white canvas is never blank. To erase always leaves marks. Is it possible to empty the mind? Or to make noise land, in the same manner dust lands? To make an empty place. To make space. Empty interludes. To fill it with white-white. To see the reflex of things on a white wall.
The wind is invisible, and nevertheless it moves things. To experiment other sounds, other words, and other names. But silence is needed. To sleep smiling. One smiles when dying and cries when being born.
Is the sea alive? Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. To repeat nothingness. Breath, inhale, exhale, inhale, inspire.
A monument to the invisible. An empty and constant sound, with no rhythm.
Inside an anechoic chamber, John Cage heard a high and a low sound. The high one was his nervous system in operation; the low one was his blood in circulation. Citing Cage, there is nothing to say, and I’m saying it.
Silence.
Paula Braga
