I’ve often felt that the empty spaces in a canvas breathe louder than the pigments do. When a color is there, it tells a story, but the pause around it— the blank, the air— invites us to fill it with our own feelings. It’s like a whisper in a room: you hear more of the silence than the noise. So yes, absence can hold weight, perhaps even more than presence, because it leaves room for our imagination to dance. But sometimes the colors themselves sing so loudly that the silence feels like a quiet echo, not an absence at all. It’s a delicate balance, like painting with breath and stillness together.