CAUTION! BODY PARTS ARE BEING STOLEN HERE!

When does a body stop being mine? If I cast it, copy it, multiply it – what is still real? If I cut it apart and rearrange it, is it still my body or something else assembled from it?

Where is the line between real and fiction? Is it in the material, the form, or the act? If each piece comes from me, does the whole remain me? Or does it become something constructed – something unreal?

Can it be altered without becoming something else? At what point does it stop being abody and become an object?

A grotesque event took place when I was on the way to exhibit my sculpture titled “The Horse Wasn’t Real Until I Killed It”: two parts of my sculpture were stolen.

Rather than restoring the cast – as exploring the grotesque and destroying my own art are core elements of my practice – I made this part of the work. The absence is marked, distributed, and exaggerated through the surrounding materials to attempt to locate what is no longer there.