When does something become so fine that it disappears? Layers of dust sift over the edges of books, on the periphery of furniture, in the corners. Hair and skin ground down into a fine powder, an ongoing residue. My hair drifting on the wood floor, gathered and burnt, turned into ash yet still a ghost.
Currently I am fascinated by dust- how it is a residue of our bodies that we constantly seek to remove. In this piece I coated my hair in gum arabic and powdered glass and then fused it in a kiln. My hair burned away, leaving ash and traces in its shape. I find this remnant very evocative- it stills holds the presence of something that has been discarded, just as my hair is still a part of me even though it has been cut.
