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Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
This painting comes from a very deep place in me. It is connected to my Native Indian background, to ancestry, memory, and the weight of silence that runs through generations.
The words written in the piece — “Indian, Indian, what did you die for? … Indian says nothing at all” — are taken from a poem by Jim Morrison, from The Lords and the New Creatures. When I first read those lines, they hit me hard. They felt cruel, honest, and painfully true. They speak about how Indigenous lives are questioned only once they are gone, while their voices are ignored when they are alive.
I painted this figure wearing red like a second skin. Red here is blood, land, resistance, and inheritance. The silence in this work is not empty. It carries the loss of territory, language, culture, and identity. For me, saying nothing is not weakness. It is survival. It is knowing that sometimes explaining yourself to a world that refuses to listen only creates more wounds.
This piece is also tied to my own life and work. After years of walking alongside displaced and marginalised communities, I have seen how often people are asked to justify their pain, to make their suffering understandable, acceptable, or useful. This figure refuses that. It stands still, rooted, holding its truth without performing it.
When I look at this painting, I don’t see someone looking for approval or recognition. I see someone who knows exactly who they are. Someone who understands that not every truth needs to be spoken out loud, and not every sacrifice needs to be explained.
This painting comes from a very deep place in me. It is connected to my Native Indian background, to ancestry, memory, and the weight of silence that runs through generations.
The words written in the piece — “Indian, Indian, what did you die for? … Indian says nothing at all” — are taken from a poem by Jim Morrison, from The Lords and the New Creatures. When I first read those lines, they hit me hard. They felt cruel, honest, and painfully true. They speak about how Indigenous lives are questioned only once they are gone, while their voices are ignored when they are alive.
I painted this figure wearing red like a second skin. Red here is blood, land, resistance, and inheritance. The silence in this work is not empty. It carries the loss of territory, language, culture, and identity. For me, saying nothing is not weakness. It is survival. It is knowing that sometimes explaining yourself to a world that refuses to listen only creates more wounds.
This piece is also tied to my own life and work. After years of walking alongside displaced and marginalised communities, I have seen how often people are asked to justify their pain, to make their suffering understandable, acceptable, or useful. This figure refuses that. It stands still, rooted, holding its truth without performing it.
When I look at this painting, I don’t see someone looking for approval or recognition. I see someone who knows exactly who they are. Someone who understands that not every truth needs to be spoken out loud, and not every sacrifice needs to be explained.