At work in the studio, although alone, I am often in the company of a chorus of murmurs that float in and out of my head. This internal dialogue has very little in common with speaking aloud. It’s more like the murmuring of a song or a prayer. A Chorus of Murmurs, then, is a cluster of meditations, before it hardens into speech—automatic writing incised into paintings that I’d covered in silver. Word pictures.