2025 - Ongoing

36 page zine publication, 8 × 11 cm

Paper with collected catkins embedded on the surface

This zine documents my 4-month journey to find a specific willow tree. One acquaintance told me about after sharing my tree hollow project. What began as curiosity became a practice of returning, over a dozen times – I know every tree in that acre now, except the one I’m looking for. In searching, I find catkins, fallen branches, hints of where the willow might reside. I’ve spoken to humans, animals, collected stories, enlisted geoguessers. I’ve come to know the soil, the small shifts in terrain where willows like to root; I’ve come to know my own stubbornness.

In the 1970s, during Beijing’s urban greening campaigns, experts planted thousands of poplar and willow trees across the city - neglecting the spring catkins that would later blanket streets in dense, allergic fluff. I grew up dodging that storm of white every year and resenting its reach. And yet now, decades later, I find myself seeking it out.

The stop I get off at is called Home Close. Home is close. But when will I ever be close to you, willow?

Reaching, reaching toward something that does not respond. I am here in relation to something that does not change its shape for me; the tree does not answer, the willow does not appear, but the work continues as I return. The gesture becomes the form.