In Drop My Body, a dejected leather jacket lays on the ground, but upon closer inspection, one can see burning wicks have begun to bore through the wax object. The jacket is at once both a ritualized commemoration of loss, of radicality, of belonging, and a destruction of a symbol with a conflicting history. The jacket is destroyed, liberated even by this transformation. Maybe transformed by its destruction. The tight, cool, sleek object now lies puddled, fluid and pouring.