Versed in the Void [morsels]

Publication series of 33 postcards and audio piece (30'), OnCurating, Zürich, CH. You can view all the cards and listen to the original audio piece via inter:archive

A 2020 mail art project. Each set of 33 cards comes in its own special wrapping. Sets are available at Kiosk Rotterdam, Printroom, and A Shop Called Life, or get in touch if you'd like a pack.



This thing started a while back—before the cosmic ambient catastrophe, but not long ago enough to overlook the low droning hum of its imminent arrival. It was said to be written in the stars, which is not to say foreseeable, but perhaps to some extent awaited in all its startling unsung inflections.

I’m guessing that you, like me, have been spending a fair bit of time alone. And perhaps you ask yourself, as do I, how to world in this world, so different from the world before any of this began (though the same in its violences, so different in its severities).

And so, I’ve been looking, noticing, witnessing (have you, too?), attempting to grasp in wordless whispers the ebb and flow of countless waves, which might translate to a loss of home, or a loss of belonging, or simply loss—and grief is a solitary practice.

This publication came into being through solitude dreaming of community. A set of 33 postcards, each card is a splinter, a fragment of a sentence, a momentary glimpse. Individually they form tiny flashes of witnessing, notes 2 self & leafless cosmic spells. Strung together they prompt four gestures for a crowd, a choreography of courage & support &—if only—solidarity.

The publication is part of an ongoing work called Versed in the Void: versed as in practiced, well-rehearsed, experienced in step and stride and compliant caress; void as in vacant, non-viable, an abysmal cipher. The work thus far comprises a performance and audio piece, the latter of which you can listen via: https://inter-archive.oncurating-space.org/Versed-in-the-Void.

Each stack of cards comes with its own assembly of trinkets & talismans, things to be gently fingered in coat pockets, or kept close for protection. The cards are meant as postcards, really, & you are encouraged to use them as such, to spread the tidings of these haptic harbingers. In the absence of small architectures of warm blood—they weren’t exactly homes, but provided shelter nonetheless—I am hopeful each card might bridge that gap, however briefly.

Thank you for your courage and your care.

Sending love,


from the mud and the slime


Those dying years. It was about language and about what happens when language is uttered. How some things are said with such confidence they almost seem true. How you can adopt a voice to sound at once fraudulent and faithful. Some people use words with such certainty it bears no refute. I’ve never had this relationship to words, always stuck between languages, never grasping one as a tool to be wielded.