Works

When I close my eyes, no sound reaches me, yet an air settles in that seems to hold everything and say it is all right. I think of this as the sound silence offers. Comfort does not always come in words. Sometimes it passes through nothing more than a still presence and the air shared between us. The work takes the form of a chair. Instead of sitting face to face to talk, two people rest back to back, in the same place. A wall running down the center blocks any direct exchange between them, yet in that wordless space each becomes more clearly present to the other. Though they cannot see or explain themselves, they share the quiet of one space, and a soft comfort passes between them. How, between hearing and silence, does sound let us sense each other's presence? I hope the sound of silence that reaches those whose hearts are ailing becomes, for each in their own way, a quiet presence at their side.