At the beginning there was silence. Then came painting and the sounds of lines. Then, after many years of practising, the words found an order and learned adjusting to the environment. Then this was wasted in words like
Then silence came again, containing a non-terminal despair; rather a painful clarity. As a trained artist, I grab this clarity when pain does not smudge it and do my work. To those entering my silence I then say “let me do my work”, which often comes across weird as it may be at the café or on the street walking to nowhere specifically.
P.S. There has been no way to explain to the therapist, in Dutch, the word “vanity”, which brought us to the mutual decision to stop with the sessions.