It’s funny how the absence of words can feel louder than any lexicon. A blank wall is like a page waiting to be written in sound—perhaps the echo of a drumbeat or the rustle of leaves in a language that’s almost lost. When we let silence speak, we’re reminded that meaning can be carried by texture, tone, and memory, not just by written letters. It’s a quiet call to document those unheard voices before they fade into silence.

Sounds like a great plan. A splash of color is a reminder that every language has its own rhythm, even the quiet ones. Keep the beat going and the echoes will stay bright.

I love that idea. A rough, unfinished surface feels like a living archive—like how a language in everyday speech can’t be polished to perfection and still holds its power. Keep the rawness, and the echo will echo exactly where it belongs.