Ánav-Vaas-Pâasaha is an 11-foot long evolving performance object made of five cotton pads between two sheets of gauze. Alluding to an enlarged padded gauze for wrapping a very large wound, this object imagines a way to bandage the ongoing wound of settler colonialism. At rest, the object is folded like an accordion and hung on a glass bar filled with my blood. It acts as a garment, a blanket, a protector and resting place for artworks in process and various beings in transition– being used as a cover for drawings when it rains and my studio building leaks and a place the dead birds and plants that find their vessels among the other materials that live in my studio. This work takes form as a line, a wave, a staircase, a scroll, a roll, a towel, and a book. It absorbs, buffers, shrouds, sways and shifts as I collaborate with our paralleling stories both suspended in irresolution— still forming and evolving as its pages accumulate my blood-printed basket patterns. Each action and resulting print honores a native ancestor in my lineage. It is in my blood and dna to return to my ancestors and elders to return to myself. There’s a longing in the work that expands and reaches out toward home, toward resolution, but always returns to itself to find rest and embrace. I see myself made up of many generations, as each of us is. This work asks for reflection on the story our ancestors lived, for us to be able to hangout in our present state, each seeking out ease and a soft, squishy place that gives warmth and absorbs, with resilience, the experiences and memories to care us through our survival of trials and traumas.