The shape of the United States forms a curious silhouette we all immediately recognize. It has always looked to me like a small-headed big-bellied beast precariously balanced on tiptoes, which also seems to describe our national character, even more so during the 2024 election.  I had a collection of small maps of the US, culled from reference books, and as I added to this growing pile of cut outs, they began to look like vulnerable little life forms needing care. That association, paired with the traditional pastel coloring of maps, led me to thinking about baby blankets, like the entire country was made up of hurt that needed swaddling. At the same time, the variety of information these maps contained, from distribution of religious affiliation, to GDP per state, to changes in weather patterns due to climate change, reminded me of how fragmented this country is, as echoed by our state of disunion during the election. And then there is the terrain itself, so endlessly fascinating in its vastness and variety, unified by its own contiguous land mass. With the land as container for all these differences, I set about joining the pieces together like a crazy quilt, a desperate attempt to corral all the parts into a whole. Making this felt like performing a symbolic act of caring for the fragile connections that still remain between us, barely holding together in the face of a hostile takeover.