The Weight of Disappearance is a self-portrait in three parts. Each sculpture is cast in the footprint of my apartment, and together they weigh 170 lbs, my body weight. They’re made of tapioca starch, native seeds from Taiwan, Toronto, and New York, sand, hemp fibres, twigs, vegetable glycerin, and white vinegar. The seeds include wild bergamot, New England aster, and lady fern. Seeds from Taiwan can’t legally enter the U.S., so the lady fern stands in, a relative of ferns that grow there.

The binder is strong enough to hold its shape but dissolves in water. The sculptures are planted in neighbourhoods I’ve called home and left to the city. People are always moving in and out of New York, and this is a way of preparing for my own leaving. Rain wears them down, plants take root, and what’s left returns to the ground. They may also be removed, kicked over, or eaten by rats.

This site follows what happens to them. It’s a record of where my weight goes.