I’ve been thinking about translation and amazed that we human beings are ever actually able to communicate at all. We’re these great brains floating through the “world” all seeing things in our own ways and processing things through our own various lenses, and then uttering things called words, or making marks on a page, or a canvas, or leaping through the air or tootling on a horn. Who can understand anyone? And yet we feel compelled again and again to attempt to connect. I just joined FaceBook, which is sort of freaking me out. All of a sudden I’ve gone from nice little boops of messages coming in quietly over my regular email to what feels like a crowded room of people babbling all at one. And trying to sell me things. What does it all mean? Maybe art is really about silence — we’re carving new forms of silence out of the noise of attempted communication. Shut up — I’m trying to listen to what you’re saying.