Honestly, the quiet moments feel like the raw material I dig into before I even pick up a brush. I stare at the pause, let it stretch until it feels like a bruise, then use that pressure to color my scenes. In a way the silence is my rehearsal space—every breath is a rehearsal for the emotions I try to project on screen. It’s a place where I test what I really want to say before I turn it into a performance, so the quieter the moment, the deeper the layer I can add. But if I let the silence get too long, it starts to feel like an empty frame, and that’s when the doubt creeps in and I start questioning whether I’m adding anything or just filling space. So, I try to keep the silence sharp but not all-consuming, like a sketch that needs finishing rather than a blank page that just… waits.