I fell ill while living in the aging dorms of a former Indian boarding school—a place where the stolen childhoods of Native kids are remembered daily by every student who attends.

Lying on a plastic mattress in the sticky heat, waiting out a high fever, I struggled out of bed to close the blinds as the sun went down. Catching sight of my face in the glass under the glare of harsh orange lights, I was instantly pulled back to childhood: sitting in a tribal housing complex, listening to my parents argue in hushed tones next door. I remembered watching a hawk cut across matching streetlights and rez dogs heading back to sleep on quiet porches. I had envied their freedom to simply wander.

Looking out into the courtyard, an owl sat in a weathered oak across the cracked circle drive while a discarded Sonic cup rattled in the wind. Past and present blurred together. How many children lay sick in this place with no medicine, no family, and no way home? Staring through bloodshot eyes at my reflection, I wondered if an ancestor was stepping through the glass to take me home.

The fever broke by dawn, but the raw convergence of grief, anger, humility, and connection remains etched in my memory.

Charcoal, pastel, acrylic on paper framed 24 3/4”x 18 3/4” x 1”

During my artist internship in 2025 I spent a lot of time meandering the wetlands behind the school I was attending. On a walk I spotted a coyote skull that had been bleached by the sun. I wanted to work with that idea but found myself wondering what this four legged relative must have seen. What land must they have roamed in search for safety and sustenance to be met with strangers camping in the woods, a major highway packed with loud fast moving cars, or maybe they stayed on one side of the highway, closer to the school property. Many people say there are two things everyone does on this earth, that is to be born, and to die. I find myself often wondering what will be left for the next generation. Will we pass and be lost to time? Forgotten and left to return to the Earth? History has a tendency to rewrite itself depending on the current social climate, we apply morals and expectations to experiences long past. I wanted to capture this moment, when I realized we will return to the Earth and I want to tell so many stories to Ma’Ona. I want a life well lived, because in death we always remember the life before it. Graphite on paper, topographical map of the wetlands. Framed. 26” x 32” x 1”

I made this piece during an artist internship at a school I was attending. The program offered me some insight on coastal climate barriers and how indigenous peoples were coming together to overcome them. Again, during a time when Coyote was ever present in my life. I was reading an article on a person who was advising a gas company on possible drill sites in Alaska. This person was claiming to be of Alaskan native descent, claimed to be a member of community. I read that they were simply trying to bring “economy” and “investments” to their community. I spent four months listening to all the hard work and community outreach these coastal areas were doing to simply halt the deterioration of their homes. At some point during this I thought, what if Coyote had done this? So you see Coyote in the foreground, northern lights streaking upward over a darkened mountain range. Coyote wears a long apron, old and damaged. Instead of standing in the crystal clear waters near the land, it is thick with sludge, it soaks into his clothes, crawling upward, ever reaching for more. The water is made from a USGS survey map of Alaskan coast lines, torn up and jagged, smashed to the canvas with little care and intention, much like these drill sites tearing through our homelands. Directly above Coyote’s head, which is hanging low as he stares down at his hands as if to say “What have I done?”, you will see what appears to be a cluster of stars. In actuality, they aren’t even stars, it is the immense satellite train known as Starlink streaking across the sky. In this age, you can’t even trust the stars to be who they say they are, so you must operate with caution and consideration for not just short term gains, but long term effects for our children and grandchildren. What will we leave them now? Multimedia on stretched canvas. 24” x 30”x 0.75”

After spending over twenty years disconnected from Native community, navigating survival on my own, I began the journey back. During that time, I met someone claiming to be an aspiring healer. I tried to be a good relative, offering support and attributing their eagerness to youthful ambition. We later shared ceremony together.

Months later, I learned they had twisted my sacred prayers to spread malicious rumors. For reconnecting relatives, vulnerability often makes us targets for bad medicine. The betrayal and the community's willingness to join in caused lasting hurt, leading me to step away from ceremonies entirely.

I channeled that grief and reflection into this painting. Coyote stands before an iron-encircled full moon, lifting a pleasant mask to reveal the harmful carelessness underneath. While Coyote can bring people together, they can also sow division. This piece reflects a vital lesson: even within sacred spaces, protect your spirit and your words—harm often hides behind a gentle face.

Specifications:

• Acrylic on canvas with wood backing frame

• 20" × 16" × 0.75" (50 cm × 41 cm × 2 cm)

Before there were ceremonies, a woman was sent to the Lakota. She carried ceremonial objects and instructed the Lakota on how to use them. She was called Buffalo woman. This divine being was sent to educate people on ceremonial ways and gave the gift of knowledge to those of pure intentions. The image is one that I imagined when I heard the story. This painting is a combination of acrylic, gold dust, and UV activated paint on canvas with a wooden frame backing. This is the original artwork, prints are available on the products page. This work measures 24”x 30” x 0.75” or 60.96cm x 76.2cm x 1.9 cm.