This installation is inspired by a habit my niece held. Instead of tucking in her dolls, she would cover them with blankets, lining them up in the living room. We had to sort of weave through these "sleeping children" to appease her, and to simply move through the space. It felt like they were in a morgue. During the several months of her consistent display of her dolls, I found interesting connections and implications, and decided to recreate the scene. How does one protect one's childhood? Do we preserve it? Mask it? Or do we address it? Should we mourn it? Commemorate it?