An erased letter represents a mute book consisting of seemingly blank sheets of ruled paper. Those pages, however, came to be through an act of erasure of the contents of a letter I had written to my father in 1999.
By erasing the narrative that once was, I attempted to create room for those that are yet to be. This has consequently led to my decision to multiply the sheets and create an empty notebook – a “useful” object; a placeholder for a future “owner” and their own narrative. Yet, by rejecting the previous narrative, I wonder, am I not creating just another kind of narrative? One which is, perhaps, not meant to tell a story of the past, but which the past, nevertheless, gives rise to?