stillness leads to narcissism?

Taken at about 8.30pm last night, the stillness was heavy outside my window; it's not a window really, it's a door into the blue void.
On residencies, one imagines being out and about, meeting, drawing, experiencing it in the wild and the raw. Well, I don't do that. Didn't do it in Cornwall, not doing it here either. Both places share the same 'feel' and location; perched on top of the sea, almost of the sea itself, so consequently, I sit and stare out the window, usually thrown wide open to the sounds, smells and sights of this working harbour. It's a noisy place usually; terns sqawking, boats being repaired, small ships chugging out to sea, but last night there was nothing, not a sound. Hence the sense of stillness all around me.

All this leads to deep introspection and subjective reflection, naturally, that's why I come to places like this, to be alone, to go down in my head and see who's lurking there, even confront them, if I feel brave.

I have a sense of direction now in the research, more defined and much more scary; saying it out loud, sounds narcissistic and I'm sure I'll be accused of that down the line. But, there it is, I'm looking at me, who I am, who I've become and how I'm engaging with it, as I age. I've been trying to find other women artists who are doing this or have done it, like Rembrandt; warts and all revealed. It's easier for a man? Well, perhaps. I don't really care, I'm much more concerned about me, us, as women ageing, how we feel about it all, our sexuality in particular. There, I've said it, it's out and I can't go back. I'm watching me, now, critically and sympathetically but with detachment.