Dennis Lin’s sculptures reconstruct chapters of his life that have gone up in flames. Back in 2021, the artist lost his home in Kimberley, Ontario, to a fire during a period of other big personal struggles. His latest works are a group of poetic mobiles completed last year that turn this tragedy into a feat of engineering. “It’s interesting how much of a connective tissue fires are,” Lin says. “There’s nobody that I’ve met who hasn’t been touched by one somehow, given what now happens annually — and globally. The idea that a home can be vaporized extends from Los Angeles to Gaza and other areas of the world where there’s been this instant, 180-degree turn. Compared to that, I am fortunate in that my suffering is very minimal.” But while Lin’s sculptures may speak to the universal way that life’s beauty hangs so precariously in the balance, they’re deeply personal, too.

As his mobile spin gently around, they oscillate between moments of quiet devastation and tranquil optimism. Some of their steel and bronze stems carry large, mossy stones collected from the grounds of the artist’s property, while others support salvaged, barely recognizable fragments like a scorched book. A moment later, one mobile rotates to reveal a tiny green sprout growing out of a cone-shaped cup of ashes. “There are all sorts of rising-from-the-ashes clichés that people tell you when you’re going through loss and grief and pain — but there actually is growth and opportunity,” Lin says. On another mobile’s branch, a burning incense stick serves as a reminder that fire is not always a destructive force — sometimes, it can be a comforting companion.

During this winter’s DesignTO Festival, Lin’s mobiles felt especially haunting, stationed on opposite sides of Toronto. One anchored Yabu Pushelberg’s East End office in the group show “To Hold,” while others led Lin’s solo exhibition in his West End studio on Milky Way — an appropriately cosmic address for a show encouraging reflection on the nature of life.

After weathering the loss of his Canadian home, Lin now finds his Taiwanese identity under threat as well, as geopolitical forces reshape his ancestral homeland into a place he fears he will no longer recognize. In turn, other recent works scramble to preserve his family heritage; Unwritten Letters encases a colourful stack of sheets salvaged from his grandfather’s Taiwanese paper factory inside a glass frame. Across all his sculptures, Lin sees himself exploring “the emotional weight of hoarding — gathering, saving and tending to what might otherwise be lost.” Much of life can be about learning to let go — but Lin is determined to hold on tight. Hence the name of his new body of work, “‘你’” which translates to “Waiting for your return.”