Cosentinoworks presents the Letter Series by New Jersey multimedia artist Daniel Cosentino, a collection of ink-on-canvas artworks that delve into themes of latent communication, symbolism, and the aesthetics of obscure typographic characters. Inspired by a personal narrative of an undelivered package from a late friend, these pieces explore the tension between meaning and absence, presence and loss.
Each work in the series begins with a character—often sourced from font packs or Unicode sets—that holds no immediate semantic value but carries visual significance. Through the use of experimental typography and conceptual art practices, Cosentino transforms these symbols into meditative compositions that question the nature of language and its capacity to convey emotion and memory.
This series not only reflects on personal experiences but also engages with broader themes of memory, symbolic language, and the intersection of traditional techniques with contemporary conceptual art. By integrating personal narrative with experimental graphic forms, the Letter Series offers viewers a unique lens through which to consider the complexities of communication and the unseen messages that shape our lives.
Several years ago, I lost a close friend to cancer. Before she passed, she told me she had mailed me a package—one that never arrived. I've often wondered: was it never sent? Is it still lost in international transit? Or perhaps this was her way of leaving behind a mystery—an open thread meant to preserve our connection.
That unreceived package became a quiet catalyst for my ongoing exploration of latent communication—messages with the potential to connect, but which remain unseen or unread. This idea gave rise to the ink-on-canvas series titled Here Is Your Letter, featured in this gallery.
Since then, I’ve continued to develop related concepts around letterforms, abstraction, and symbolic language. These works are created using traditional and experimental media: ink, acrylic, coffee, and other organic materials, all applied by hand. The source material often begins with digital font packs—characters found in standard software that carry no direct meaning for me except their visual form.
At times, I use personal letters or excerpts from theology and theory, translating them into symbolic fonts that strip away readability. These works sit in tension between graphic surface and linguistic intent, revealing a space where meaning is suspended—neither fully present nor fully lost.
In this way, each piece becomes both a gesture toward the unknown and an act of preservation. These forms embody the unresolved: the not-yet-found letter, the message without address. They are aesthetic responses to silence, offering form to the absence, and perhaps resolution to what was once thought to be lost.