I had to spend a year alone while my fiance was serving in the Navy. Sometimes I visited him on his small, icebound island.
We would stay in a small hotel for a day, and then separate again for a long time. The hotel was suffused by a lovely, enveloping silence that even the noise of TV was not able to penetrate.
This silence and snowy white northern island consumed my thoughts, and stayed with me 365 days of the year. Separation became an ordeal which stretched indefinitely. Sometimes it seemed that my whole body hurt and I was dying, or even already dead. I joked that I would never be able to wait for my loved one and die an eternal fiancee. And I would be buried in my wedding dress, in accordance with the Russian custom of burying unmarried girls.
"White. Silence." is the result of self-irony and my mockery of my boundless romanticism.