The Things I Cannot Say
4' x 1' x 3.5' , installation, performance, 2016
My grandfather was a letter carrier. He carried actual hand written letters to people’s mailboxes. In today’s world of emails and paper mail that consists of bills and ads, what a romantic notion it would be to receive a hand written message.
I have been writing letters to people who have passed away. They say things I didn't say, but should've. I've also been writing letters to those who are still here; they say things that I cannot bring myself to say out loud, and things I don't say often enough. Since these letters did not have a destination or a successful act of communication, I ripped them up and turned them into new handmade paper. I then formed these sheets of paper into envelopes: new vessels that can carry a new message. Embedded on the flap is a hidden text: a fragment from the initial letter. This can only be seen when opened and held to the light. For the (thesis) show, I will be sitting at a small, handmade poplar table writing new letters to people I care about and placing them inside these envelopes to be sent out into the world; in one gesture, both the new letter and the former (the things I cannot say), will leave me. Throughout the duration of the show, I will rotate a new envelope to the top of the stack, revealing a new fragment.