From a 1956 profile of Edward Hopper in Time magazine, here’s an arresting illustration of single-minded dedication to one’s art by deliberately embracing silence and limiting one’s self-expression in other forms to avoid careless leaks of creative vision and energy:
Offered a gold medal by the National Institute of Arts and Letters last year, Hopper fled to Mexico. He came back and accepted it only after being assured that he would not have to say anything except “Thanks.”
His silences must be heard to be appreciated. Author John Dos Passos, an old friend, recalls that often when they had tea together, he “felt that Hopper was on the verge of saying something, but he never did.” Painter Louis Bouche once chatted for a long stretch to Hopper, without getting the least response, and finally blurted: “Oh hell, peekaboo!” Even Mrs. Hopper (who does the family’s share of talking) confesses that “sometimes talking with Eddie is just like dropping a stone in a well, except that it doesn’t thump when it hits bottom.”
More than most artists, and far more than the generality of men, Hopper lives in his eyes. He handles words precisely, but they remain alien to him. He is untroubled by his own monumental reticence. “If you could say it in words,” he shrugs, “there’d be no reason to paint.”
Source: “Art: The Silent Witness“
As a writer, I find this inspiring and confirmatory. Of course, for writers the principle Hopper described and embodied might emerge not through avoiding words altogether, but through avoiding idle chatter about whatever fictive, poetic, or philosophical dream you’re currently incubating. Or you might find that you need to limit yourself in other ways. In any case, Hopper’s point about creative silence remains valid. If you want to fulfill your art, you may need to fast from certain other modes of expression. Only trial and error, accompanied by careful self-observation and inner awareness, will tell you what those are.