Richness of silence

In between reading my sociology stats and my intro to politics textbooks, I've been reading a collection of excellent short stories called The Ivory and the Horn by the acclaimed Canadian urban fantasy writer, Charles de Lint. One of the things I enjoy about de Lint is his evocative style of writing about the mythic and the mundane. His style moves between various voices that are each lyrical, poetic or snappy in turn.

But one passage in the last quarter of this book has drawn me back time and again and I can't stop thinking about it.

The best artists know what to leave out. They know how much of the support should show through as the pigment is applied, what details aren't necessary. They suggest, and let the viewer fill in whatever else is needed to make the communication complete. They aren't afraid to work with a smaller palette, to delete excess verbiage or place rests on the musical staff, for they know that almost every creative endeavor can be improved with a certain measure of understatement. For isn't it the silence between the notes that often gives music its resonance? What lies between the lines of a poem or store, the dialogue the actor doesn't speak, the pauses between the dancer's steps? The spaces can be just as important as what is distinctly portrayed.

In a world like ours that is filled up with information, activity, movement, purpose, I must remember this passage and remember to live as much in the richness of silence and absence as I do in the fullness of noise and bustle.