OUR THOUGHTS ON LOVE LETTERS
To write a love letter (or to make art) we will have to live with the lingering specter of the thing we desire, to coax it and communicate to it. The love letter releases us from desire’s grip and the great burden of wanting. When we write a love letter, we are taking a risk. It’s an act of courage as much as a confession of weakness. To write a love letter (or to make art) we need to be willing to be vulnerable, permeable, and exposed. We must get comfortable with that un-fillable space inside where longing takes root.
What is more alluring than a secret longing? To desire something that should not be desired or can never be obtained. Such secrets can nourish or deplete, keep afloat or weigh down.
To write a love letter (or to make art) we have to yearn acutely for something not quite defined. This object of desire is a force that shapes the work. We have to build these feelings into something tangible. We have to grab hold of the inexpressible and force it into a corporeal shape. We have to wish so fiercely that we bring our desire to life.
Under longing’s witchcraft, we will sometimes risk everything in order to get closer to the object of desire or to push it away—sometimes we will want to do both.
In many instances, love letters are lost—they’re either never sent, discarded, or forgotten about. Once the love letter leaves its author’s hands, it is instantly transformed. It becomes an artifact. It becomes evidence. It becomes an anonymous object that the recipient—or finder—will attach their own meaning to.
In writing a love letter, we hope to manifest our deepest longings, bringing nearer to us, in physical form, the visions that haunt us. Traditionally, a love letter is a handwritten note sealed in an envelope. To us, a love letter can take any form. A love letter is prose, a poem, a photo, a list. It tells a story; it recalls a memory; it leaves an impression; it sends a message in code.