For the past two years I’ve been rejected from hundreds of jobs. I was rejected from designer jobs, admin jobs, jobs I was referred to, and jobs I was overqualified for, all without any indication that my materials had been seen by a single human being. For years now, life has moved on for the people around me. My friends get jobs. My parents go on vacation. All the while my life stays perfectly still, frozen in an endlessly repeating clip of me being casually erased with the falsely cheery text of a form email.

My grief during this process has unfolded in isolation, as so much grief does. My hope with this piece is that, by using rejection as material, I can transform an isolating experience into a shared one—and shed light on the quiet, and repetitive nature of grief.

This piece is made from 60 form rejection emails I received between now and 2023 (less than a quarter of the total).