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In this imagined future, Canadians have suffered a terrible loss at the hands of an invasion that cost the country its sovereignty less than a decade after U.S. President Donald Trump first suggested annexing America’s northern neighbour.

As unthinkable as it might seem, º£½ÇÉçÇø¹ÙÍøartist  can’t shake the possibility from her mind. 

For nearly two months, in an art series titled ”” — or American Peace — Vandor  has been putting up fictitious, historical plaques that imagine what º£½ÇÉçÇø¹ÙÍømay look like if there ever was a future invasion by the U.S.

Her signs mimic the ones created by Heritage Toronto, complete with a short blurb on the historical significance of the imaginary site. From sniper’s nests near  the CN Tower to “tennis court war rooms” where insurgents gathered and planned counterattacks without arousing suspicion, Vandor has imagined a grim future for the city.

The idea for the plaques came to her in the weeks following Trump’s first comments about making Canada the 51st state.

“I was so angry that this country that we think is our great ally, our great friend, was coming for us — that they would threaten something as taken for granted as our sovereignty,” said Vandor.

At that moment, Vandor said she didn’t feel like those around her were as outraged as she was — others seemed to take it as a joke, coming from “the crazy guy down there” instead of as a plausible threat. 

“I started imagining an alternate reality where (the Americans) did come up here because, let’s be serious, we have a massively undefended border and they could just swing up here,” she said. “They have one of the largest militaries in the world and that was scary and upsetting to me.”

Moved by frustration, Vandor created each art piece as inspiration struck and then put them up around the city.

While on maternity leave from her daytime job a local auction house, Vandor walks at least twice a day with her daughter and her dog. While she’s out, she’ll come across a light pole or street corner and imagine what may have happened on that spot in her alternate future.

The first time she installed a plaque, she said her heart was beating so quickly she felt like she might be physically ill.

“I was so terrified,” she said. “I’m a fine artist, like, I work in a studio, I work in a gallery. I’m not a tagger, I’m not any of those adventurous types.”

In preparation, she had carefully packaged the two-foot wide piece of aluminum the day before and placed it in her daughter’s stroller. Then, around 4 a.m., Vandor bundled up her five-month-old child and set out into the chilly March morning. 

Since March 9, however, Vandor has created and placed six plaques around Toronto, and has no plans of slowing down. As of Monday afternoon, all of Vandor’s signs have disappeared, except the most recent, which is only days old, she said. 

What happened to Vandor’s signs is a mystery.

The City of º£½ÇÉçÇø¹ÙÍødid not confirm if it had taken down any of the plaques, but added they may be considered bylaw infractions if they were put up on public property without a permit. At that point, the city could remove them if a citizen makes a request or if its content is considered hate speech. 

If the signs were placed on private property, its fate would be up to the property owner, according to the city. º£½ÇÉçÇø¹ÙÍøpolice said they haven’t received any requests to remove the plaques as acts of vandalism. 

Whether the plaques have been confiscated by the City or if a passerby snagged it as a souvenir, the disappearing pieces of art don’t bother Vandor. She said the point of the plaques isn’t to create a permanent addition to the city — it’s to provoke thought, even if only one passerby sees it before it’s taken down.

“It’s meant to be a sort of ephemeral series and I think that ties into this idea that history is ever-changing, it’s not fixed,” she said.

The first piece in the series, “Surrender of the Tecumseth Irregulars,” was named after Tecumseth Street in an effort to make Vandor’s imagined future as realistic as possible for passersby. It describes a future where an entire neighbourhood has been wiped out, only to be reconstructed under the “Musk Plan” as part of the New 1812 Act.

“This is peoples’ neighbourhood and the idea that tanks would roll up here, that guns would be on the streets is anything but tranquil,” she said. “It’s a bit of a jolt, this idea that you’re going about your day and something all of a sudden has shifted.

“That jolt, I think, is what makes a really good piece of art, something that shakes you a little bit.”

Since the signs began popping up in the city, Vandor has been receiving mixed reactions from both sides of the border. Vandor said she has been flooded with emails and private messages from people asking if she’s anti-American or accusing her of being unpatriotic, which made her feel like very few people are willing to discuss what she’s doing publicly.

When it comes to the interpretation however, Vandor leaves it in the viewer’s hands. 

“I think it’s very interesting that people are arguing both sides,” she said. “Once you release it into the world, you’re not in charge of how people see it.”