what belongs to grandpa is a tangible representation of a family tree, something often taken for granted. the tree is bound with strips of fabric from one of my grandfather's shirts. over time, as the tree grows with the fabric that binds it, it is shaped it and becomes united with it. the binding leaves scars, representative of the legacy of genocide you inherit as a settler descendant. as the tree grows and the fabric becomes part of it, a visual metaphor becomes apparent - how one's family tree, or lack thereof, can affect identity. the growth of this tree is representative of a strengthening of identity.
the tree is a white cedar, the same tree my childhood treehouse was in, and the same tree that lined the driveway of my grandparent's house. There is 27 strips of fabric binding the tree, one for each year I have carried this name and legacy.
