erasing war (2001) hand-bound book, graphite, eraser, dish, video, desk, chair erasing war is an installation that invites viewers to observe the evidence and documentation of an action: erasing the word WAR from every page of a hand-bound book. Viewers sit at the table to touch and read the now-erased book, see and touch the pile of eraser remnants, and watch and listen to the over four-hour video documentation of the task of erasing the book. erasing war was the first piece I made after the United States invaded Afghanistan. After the attacks on September 11, 2001, making art felt impossible – and worse, useless – but I was beginning my last year of graduate school, and my purpose was to make art. I made the book with pristine white paper, using white Tyvek, an almost indestructible material, for the cover. I wrote the word WAR on every page, but did not videotape that initial act – it was furtive, shameful. Then my husband videotaped me while I erased each page of the book; it took over four hours, over the course of several days, to complete the task. It was difficult work – my hand got tired and cramped, even with frequent breaks. As the eraser got smaller, it got harder to hold on to, and I started to drop it. It was dirty work, seemed never-ending, and my arm was sore for days. Toward the end of the book, the word WAR almost takes over the page – it becomes impossible to restore any whiteness to the page – and my only hope was to smear the word, render it unreadable at least. The action was sincere, heartfelt, hopeful – I did, and do, want to erase war. But it was also a futile act, one that changed nothing. When I was finished erasing, a friend pointed out that as I pressed down to erase every page, I had inadvertently been transferring the next page's WAR onto the verso of the page I was erasing – the graphite was being imprinted, leaving a new, reversed image of the word WAR. As I erased, WAR was propagating itself in the pages of my hopeful, futile book.