US Letter, 2012

In US Letter, I delve into the profound impact of 9/11, not through direct photographic documentation, but through a unique lens of "imagined" photo-realism. This endeavor involved meticulously constructing images based on a vast trove of media—television broadcasts, internet archives, and print news—to reinterpret the catastrophic events of that day. My aim was to transform ubiquitous, everyday objects into poignant fragments of a past irrevocably altered, echoing the presence of the living and the phantom traces of lives once fully occupied. Each image in US Letter serves as a visual meditation on absence and memory, where familiar items are imbued with the weight of history and the silent narratives of loss.

This digitally fabricated series finds its genesis in Don DeLillo’s seminal novel, Falling Man. DeLillo's powerful narrative provided a particularly potent inspiration, specifically a moment where he describes the profound disarray and chaos that consumed New York City on September 11, 2001, as the Twin Towers vanished from the skyline. His description was so extraordinarily vivid, so rich in sensory detail, that it transcended mere prose and directly challenged my own long-held memories of the 9/11 attacks. It compelled me to undertake a rigorous reevaluation of those recollections, to scrutinize them in the stark light of the present day, questioning their veracity and emotional resonance.

My personal recollection of the catastrophe, for many years, had been characterized by a peculiar sense of objectivity, almost a detached observation. What stood out most vividly in my mind was the relentless cascade of papers and debris falling from the sky. Witnessing endless loops of news footage depicting these fluttering sheets, descending from the heavens like ghostly confetti, became an unnerving, almost haunting experience. This constant visual bombardment was unsettling because, in its very simplicity, it represented the irrefutable physical evidence of people—the intimate, tangible remnants of lives abruptly interrupted. And, inexplicably, I felt a profound, almost visceral connection to this evidence, to those ubiquitous sheets of 8.5″ x 11″ paper, each one a silent testament to a story untold, a life forever altered. They became, for me, a powerful symbol of human presence amidst the overwhelming destruction, a fragile link to the countless individuals whose existence was interwoven with those very papers.