The first in a series of hide paintings for guiding the escape of Indigenous remains and objects in non-Indigenous Institutions to return to their home communities, Architecture of return, escape (Metropolitan Museum of Art) is a mapped escape plan for objects held in the Met in New York City.

The work is a plan for wayfinding during decolonization; requiring return, building new structures for good ways of being. Of the few objects held in display cases, many more (including human remains, and ceremonial objects not intended for public view) are held in museum archives. The cost and processes required to travel and visit these archives limits access to cultural knowledge and inheritance for Indigenous communities, and continues the removal of the objects from their land and people. While institutions control the air temperature, humidity, uv exposure and dust, they are unable to adequately care for these objects in cultural or spiritual ways.

Painting information on hides to remember, and instruct has a long history in many Indigenous communities, particularly for recording significant events or feats of bravery. In this series of work, the hide paintings depict a floor plan referencing a visitors guide and architecture blueprints for building. The objects themselves are unwilling visitors to the museum, and the painting builds a route for escape and vision for reunification of cultural inheritance with community. In the painting, the galleries of the museum containing Indigenous American objects (along with elevators and stairs coming from the archives) are marked with a red dashed line leading to the exit. The exit from the museum is also an entrance for our cultural at.óow (ceremonial objects) imprisoned in these spaces, an entrance for return to land, community and culture. The work serves as a reminder of the past, and as a plan for a good way forward; where stolen objects, human remains and works sold under duress can return home for their own health, for the health of the communities that created them, and for the health of the communities that took them.

EIP: Your art speaks volumes, and is often deliberately “provocative”; tell us first about your life outside of the art you do, the person from which the expression comes?

NICHOLAS: My life is deeply shaped by my connection to the Land, water, community, and family. Beyond my art practice, I navigate my days with a sense of responsibility to these relationships, recognizing that they ground both my work and my existence.

A typical day begins early with children going to school, I often try to get outside—whether walking, running or simply being present with the Land, I love witnessing the seasons and nature’s clock. Living in Alaska, the Land is powerful, a teacher and provider. The weather and its natural rhythms influence so much of my practice and understanding. Summers are busy harvesting. Winters provide time for creating with less distraction.

Family is at the heart of my life. I prioritize being present for my children, supporting them in their education and growth, and sharing the values and knowledge passed down to me through continuum. This extends to my community, where mentorship and collaboration are part of daily experience—through conversations, shared meals, or working alongside others.

Much of my time is spent engaging with creative disciplines— researching, reading, listening and exploring ideas. Music is an integral part of this exploration, providing both a creative outlet and a meditative practice. Some days are dedicated to carving, others to the music studio, or working on projects that require research and concept. The throughline remains the same: honoring Indigenous knowledge, challenging structures that seek to erase it, and creating space for future generations.

Resistance is also present in my daily life—whether through showing up for movements that support Indigenous sovereignty, engaging in conversations about Land and imagined futures. I move forward with gratitude and a commitment to my people, my culture, and the responsibilities that come with both.

EIP: How would your children & family describe you as an artist?

NICHOLAS: Not that I would speak for my children on this, but I can lead with what knowledge they have access to. My children have understood that this practice is not separated from our life, our connection to Land, to sustenance, culture and continuum, how it is connected to language, to our survival and to time generationally, how it contributes to health and well being. My children have been raised to understand that the studio is free and alive, shifting with objects and projects that hold story. Often the work has generative dialogue that reaches into silenced history that is not taught in school systems. They are allowed to explore in the studio with the tools and material, some of my children continue their own creative practice in their own time and space. Music, Lingit formline, carving, jewelry etc. I am so grateful for them to have access to something that has been so enriching and meaningful to my life experience.

EIP: In all your years of work, what would be your favorite piece you have ever worked on?

NICHOLAS: I don’t spend enough time looking back to celebrate works or favorites. The process of creating and exploration includes growth and new thought, new perspective and experiment. I am so grateful for opportunities to travel and meet with other cultures and communities, any work that allows for this is thought of as a blessing and form of higher learning.

EIP: Your work often explores themes of Indigenous identity and culture. How has your heritage shaped your perspective as an artist, and what role does storytelling play in your art?

NICHOLAS: All of my work is rooted in my cultural understanding and connection to place. I was speaking with my friend Jeffrey Gibson who had invited me to present to his students and Jeffrey mentioned something I never really noticed about my practice. Jeffrey said I was a storyteller. I know that creative practice can change the world. I know that creative practice can provide clarity, focus and vision. This is transmission of thought, this is survival, this is responsibility and necessity. Culturally speaking our community had no word for art, yet the visual form and language was everywhere. It is part of existence and life.

EIP: Can you speak about the importance of reclaiming traditional art forms and narratives in contemporary Indigenous art?

NICHOLAS: The receipts of time (or the gaps) are well documented and represented in art collections, in museums, in language, in books and media. Indians and dinosaur bones are often experienced together by public school visits to the museum. Anthropology and romanticism is something we still navigate. My grandfather created work in an era where customary education had been purposefully broken, where our clan houses had been dismantled and our language forcefully removed. Our ceremonies were banned, our knowledge and Land extracted. To continue to relearn language and song, to provide and share harvests from the Land with elders, to teach the youth is care. Creating in continuum and building is power, consumption is colonial. This is a living community and the work we do exists because of those whose shoulders we stand on.

EIP: Much of your work touches on the resistance against colonialism and cultural erasure. How do you view the role of art as a form of protest or political expression?

NICHOLAS: Its voice in a space where our voices have been silenced, in a timeline where the media seeks to control and profit from our humanity at the expense of Land and life. Free Palestine, Free Congo, Free Sudan and Land Back. I am listening and learning. I have so much respect for those that voice and work towards collective liberation. We have seen so much backlash and it is clear that economic power is a tool with a means to oppress. Art is an opportunity.

EIP: What have been some of the most challenging or rewarding moments you’ve faced when addressing difficult historical and political subjects through your work?

NICHOLAS: Everything comes with challenges, whether it is fighting censorship or seeking funding to realize projects. I have fought for projects,I have fought for words to remain in text and for language and intention of work to be clearly stated. Words are a battlefield and the pushback can be proof of impact. Early on it felt great to have access and participation, through time I’ve seen that we are also being consumed. Understanding spiritual connection to place grounds me, knowing that the Land provides and cares is a powerfully humbling understanding. The challenge I look forward to most is growth.

EIP: If you could reflect into your youth and childhood, what moments have been deeply ingrained in you that have now become or affected a part of your artistic practice?

NICHOLAS: Growing up around the cultural art form was very inspiring and powerful, my fondest memories include the smell of red cedar in my uncle’s shop, the tools, the knives and all of my fathers jewelry making equipment. Music played a roll in this as well, instruments and song were always shared and loved in my family. In grade school I was practicing Lingit formline and drawing as often as possible, building and trying to understand this visual language with guidance from my father and uncle. We moved around often and the imagery connected me back to home in a meaningful way, it instilled pride in my culture and carried many other life teachings beyond the creative process. It is life work, it connects us with the community, to ceremony, to song, to Land and water, to past present and future. I wanted to understand more and this cultural art form had provided that insight, it still continues to provide more understanding. Through this work I learned that all is possible and for me that is incredibly powerful.

EIP: Do you feel like your art makes political statements? If this is so, have you always approached your work this way?

NICHOLAS: Yes. Indigenous existence is political. Land is political, water is political, air is political when the systems that consume and extract, damage, remove or forcefully seek to control it/us continue to exist. My initial training in the creative world began with customary apprenticeships carving wood and metals. I think the most continual aspect in my practice was something I still try to maintain to this day, which is to keep the mind open.

EIP: In light of growing global inequality, what do you believe are the most pressing issues that world governments need to prioritize?

NICHOLAS: Collective liberation, human rights for all, climate crisis, access to healthcare, affordable housing, and clean water. We can envision a better future.

EIP: Was there a specific moment or experience that made you realize the political potential of your work?

NICHOLAS: In order to access my culture I had to navigate institutions, museums and academia. So much of our culture had been intentionally removed through genocide. Learning about my history is highly political. My grandparents in an internment camp, my Unangax family forcefully removed from their villages. Boarding schools, forced assimilation, language removal. Erasure. The impacts still surface through living generations, we are still fighting to protect herring, salmon, waterways and for sovereignty and Land rights. My survival is political in a homeland that sought to remove us. There is a necessity and responsibility to bring voice to these conversations.

EIP: Can you talk about your connection to the youth, whether it’s your children or children you might work with. How do they respond to your work and what has been your focus if any when educating them using creativity?

NICHOLAS: Our culture lives through shared knowledge and continuum, I have and continue to take on apprentices and understand this as a form of living knowledge. Some were taught that if it had not been for museums who “care” for our at.óow (sacred objects) then we would not have them. This is myth created by settler supremacists, the same kind of mythology that calls any non-Eurocentric spiritual belief primitive, this is the same mythology that still continues to disregard Indigenous science. I like to speak about kooteeya (totem poles) when talking about this. In our communities the kooteeya is carved raised and returns back to the forest in its life. In colonial society these have been removed, preserved with arsenic and placed into collection. The preservation is in the knowledge and understanding of how to create the kooteeya, in the preservation and protection, care of the forests that provide the cedar to create the totem. The preservation and care has to be literal care for the community that stewards this knowledge, not just the fetishized object. I am starting a 2 year apprenticeship where I will train and work with younger artists, starting with tool making, design, cultural protocol and carving. The students will work with me over the course of this time and upon completion will have carved and raised a 25ft totem. This is knowledge transmission.