SILENCE
This comes in three parts. Part one reflects on the accessibility of online workshops. Parts two and three are discussions of Silence.
1
I recently attended a generative workshop on the Poetics of Silence, offered by
, who writes at . It was a great example of an accessible and comfortable workshop, one of the most pleasurable Zoom experiences I’ve been a part of.Workshops and other online artist events like this have been an important part of my arts education and of making connection to other artists. In the last couple of years I have enthusiastically signed up for many; on topics that interested me; from artists who make work that I enjoy or that I have some connection with; or that are being offered by institutions that seem to act with at least some consideration for the human being as a collective body.
Those online spaces I find most welcoming and cosy, Si-Ling’s workshop included, tend to share certain characteristics. I’ve been mentally building a list of accessibility measures that help me. Here are some of the things on that list.
The absence of a hierarchy between spoken and written communication. That is, everything in chat is considered as important as if someone had spoken it out loud. The facilitator will read every message.
The choice to show up as you like. Feel free to have cameras on or off, or to go silent for the whole event and take part in input-mode only. There is freedom to move, stretch, stim, yawn, whatever. Come as you are.
Some form of grounding led by the facilitator. A moment, or longer, to adjust to the cohabited online space. It can be jarring to go from alone in a room with a computer, to suddenly sharing a flattened screenspace with multiple people. Some way of co-regulating into this relational form helps me. This can be as simple as everyone breathing for a few breaths.
The ability to use ‘online body language’ (raise hand function, emoji, etc) as a way to signal that you wish to speak, or that you feel a certain way about something being discussed or a person’s response.
A certain group size. For me, groups of no larger than 6 or 7 people are most accessible and enjoyable. I find the constant presence of the facilitator reassuring, and the sudden recontextualisation of new social spaces (eg breakout rooms) jarring. Moving between rooms and people in real life requires adjustment and regulation; it’s no different online.
Context! Some information in advance about the structure of the workshop, perhaps the energy levels required, the expectation of conversation or making or writing or whatever other activity. As much information as can reasonably be predicted in advance, essentially.
Explicitly trans inclusive. There is no one way to do this, but it is important to me that I am not left guessing as to whether a Zoom room is a safe space to express my non gendered self.
What measures foster access intimacy for you? Leave a comment, I would love to know.
I was interested in this workshop because of the topic and the artist. Silence is something that I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about. Autistic people often exist in silence (in non-verbality, that is, as true silence is near impossible to achieve as a living being). Non-linguistic communication is demeaned, or translation attempted inappropriately (see Mel Baggs below).
I’ve had conceptual performance ideas about creating space for shared silence that have never quite materialised, and I’m fascinated with the idea of silence as a neuroqueer practice; an autistic space in time. The workshop renewed my interest in silence, and inspired two pieces of writing. One is more poetic, and the second is a short prose discussion of the utility of silence in autistic relations, in contrast to small-talk.
2
Silence is: an absence (of sound) — but, measured at the source; not the receiver.
There is always sound, as long as there is air. The earth has a sound. The sky has a sound. The plants have sounds. The animals have sounds. The objects have sound. WE all have sound.
Listen: [thump thump, thump thump, thump thump, thump thump]
My mind though, is silent. My mind though, is absent of all sound, light, scent, texture, and taste; it is silent.
Silence as the subject means something else. Still absence, but of what?
Not intimacy. Not energy. Not relational intersubjectivity. Not shared experience.
Maybe: the voice? The word? Language, spoken? Has silence become stained by linguistic supremacy?
Whomever did it, Silence has been weaponised.
We walk the corridors of silence;
We hold an awkward silence;
Silence is uncomfortable; deafening, or deathly;
We suffer, in Silence.
And yet
Silence is golden.
Silence is erotic.
Silence is sacred pause.
Silence is relational offering.
Silence is resource.
Silence is a softly lit, comfortable room.
Silence is breath [life].
Silence is non-linguistic communication.
Silence is a green vista, a horse drawn cart rolling along a country track.
Silence is generative and reparative.
Silence is quiet, not silent.
Silence is opaque and powerful.
Silence is an expression of bodily autonomy in the face of language supremacy, an act of resistance.
Silence is a personal inner experience; yet
Silence can be cocreated,
and shared.
It is not then solely an absence, but an offering, a question, and an answer.
Silence is full and pregnant.
Streams flowing side by side by side, intertwining and flirting, never quite touching. Our own beautiful mysteries, adjacent, on top, and underneath, hovering just out of reach of the other;
but, your breath cools my skin and the hair on my neck stands up on end.
maybe, after the silence, there will be words
but it does not matter if there are none
3
Does silence offer an autistic container for the non-linguistic communication/bonding/nervous system alignment/co-regulation/energetic observation that for the neuronormative population takes place during small-talk?
I have often wished that silence were more socially acceptable. I learnt in childhood that silence was a requirement in some locations — the school classroom especially, although
children are still expected to be seen and not heard in many public spaces. Confusingly though, in the context of social interactions silence was awkward and to be avoided. I internalised this awkwardness observed somewhere around me, and took it on as my own belief.
I believe that is an entirely learnt judgement. Silence need not feel awkward, like a breakdown of relations has occurred, or as if a rift has been torn in the relational field.
A comfortable consensual Silence gives me the space I need to tune in to the other person, people or settle into the energy of the room better. When there’s small talk, this process can’t take place and I remain flustered or out of sync. Silence allows co-regulation to occur, an energetic adjustment of sorts.
I am trying to unlearn my impulse to internally label silence as awkward and to feel it as representative of a relational failure. Rather, I try to see it as a form of relational interaction that I find generative, intimate, pleasurable, satisfying, and easy, depending on the relational context.
I’ve been trying to imagine ways in which silence could be consensually agreed upon as a method of interaction. How might we signal to each other that we can spend time in silence, either after a period of verbal interaction, or as we settle in to a space together, adjusting to each other?
Do you have any ideas? What is your relationship to silence?
With love and solidarity
I'm so glad to have found your substack. I, too, have found some online places welcoming and others (unintentionally) intimidating. I think in the former, the moderator(s) put in a lot of effort into making sure it remains so, making people feel comfortable enough to speak/stay but not the kind of speech that would make some feel dismissed, or put on the spot, or lectured, etc.
I feel you about silence, the pressure to fill every moment with speech. It usually makes it harder for me to speak. the ability to sit next to each other in comfortable silence takes a special kind of--and probably stage in the--relationship.
Interesting how silence is highly valued in certain traditions and schools of thought, particularly in Asia. In most Asian philosophy literature silence appears as a fundamental requirement on the path to wisdom. It may be that the difficulty in Western societies to understand and accept silence is really a symptom of cognitive illness—a distancing from wisdom, that is. It may be a phase in the natural cycle of illness as a crisis of the self—collective self in this case—that hopefully will be overcome eventually. assuming society is a superorganism that, like any living being, always stands a chance to learn new skills, refine self-care skills, acquire wisdom and recover from maladies. But then, for that to happen, the cells of this superorganism have to engage in meaningful and constructive exchanges. Again, Asian tradition in general is very clear in showing that human interchange doesn't always require words! Come to think of it, most interchanges really occur outside the language domain.