Rafe & Stoya
Rafe
Do you ever pause to think about what a blank canvas should say before you touch it, or do you just let the paint decide for you?
Stoya
I don’t pause, I just lean in and let the colors shout what they wanna say. The canvas stays quiet until the paint gets in there. If it needs a pause, that’s because it can’t decide on its own. I’m not here to draft a story, I’m here to create a riot.
Rafe
It’s a wild idea—letting the paint shout without a pause. Maybe the riot is what the canvas hides, but a brief silence can still feel like a breath before the storm. Either way, the noise will echo your thoughts in ways you didn’t expect.
Stoya
Breath? For poets. I don’t need pauses, I need the whole wall to scream. If you’re scared of the storm, just don’t paint.
Rafe
Screaming walls can be a whole lot of noise, but even the loudest shout still needs a moment to reset the ears. Maybe the pause is just a silent breath in the chorus, not a sign of fear.
Stoya
A silent breath is just a safety net for people scared of noise, and I don’t need that. I paint until the canvas screams back.
Rafe
Sounds like a full‑on storm, and that’s cool, but even the loudest shout can turn into a roar only if it has a place to breathe. Maybe the canvas’s scream is its own way of saying, “I’m here,” even if that message is quiet for a moment before the noise hits.
Stoya
It’s not a breath, it’s a gap I fill with a splatter that turns the room into a living shout. If you’re looking for quiet, go paint a beige wall.