Notions of Exile ︎︎︎


In 2020, Faride Mereb sent out 300 Venezuelan passport facsimiles and invited artists around the world to turn this document into an artist book. This project was part of a larger series of exhibitions for the Washington Project for the Arts co-curated by Faride Mereb and Fabiola Delgado.



︎ Keep Everything in Perspective

Mixed media using an inherited memory and unsolicited advice shows the Vlora ship carrying tens of thousands of Albanian refugees to Bari, Italy on 08 August 1991. The inherited memory has been redacted and pasted into a passport facsimile.

Here is is shown scanned atop a marbled photograph of two Albanian farmers on the Dajt mountains picking the fruit of their trees.


︎ Before My Passport Became AmericanInk, words from a newspaper article about what immigrants should do when they come to America and found image of American flag. This spread is scanned and layered atop a melting New York City skyline.


︎ A Beginner’s Guide to America
       & Reach Inside to Find

Ink, colored plastic, tape, indentifiable skin information transposed onto the page with ink, extracted alien numbers, tape and words from a newspaper article about what immigrants should do when they come to America. 


︎ Become Invisible

Ink, the likeness of two children displaced from their childhood photographs, words from a newspaper article about what immigrants should do when they come to America and colored plastic.

︎ Once Immigrants Detach 

Redacted childhood photograph, tape and words from a newspaper article about what immigrants should do when they come to America.


︎ The Promised Hazing Ritual

Redacted image of immigrants on a boat approaching Ellis Island, tape and words from a newspaper article about what immigrants should do when they come to America. In the center of the boat, there are three women who have lost their faces but none of their belongings.


︎ What Is a Country

Ink, colored plastic, a linocut print and an ethical dilemma phrased as a rhetorical question.


︎ Republica de 

Cover of a passport facsimile, cut. to reveal a glimpse of a self-portrait interrupted by a monumental projection.



No way to call myself American when everything about me on paper is anything but American when America does not exist when all the Americans who are actually from this land are all but dead and if they’re not dead they’re on fucking reservations being fed fucking commodity foods and if they’re not they’re paying rent to a landlord who calls them “that Spanish guy” in a gentrifying neighborhood with a colonizer’s name slapped on it unable to live off the land their ancestors their gods their blood tended to for centuries before my passport became

American.