Is your home or office built with the bones of your ancestors? A shocking thought, right? Kapulani Landgraf’s installation, "Ponoiwi," at the Honolulu Museum of Art explains how this is not only possible, but probable.

Four million tons of sand were mined from Maui sand dunes where Native Hawaiians buried their ancestors. The sand was, and still is, loaded on barges and tugged to Oahu for use in building construction.

The issue of desecration of sacred land came clear to Landgraf during 1996 to 2001 when she was working on her book "Na Wahi Kapu o Maui," documenting cultural and architectural sites on Maui. She says the sand issue always stayed in the back of her mind.

"It was interesting to me because a lot of people on Maui were not aware of the sand removal, and on Oahu there was little thought about the barges with mountains of sand passing by Hon­olulu, headed for Barbers Point to be loaded on construction trucks."

Landgraf’s installation generates conversations about precious resources, rail, burial council issues and, she says, "the continuous disregard by the powers that be. It’s exactly what happened with the construction of H-3. It’s history repeating itself, again!"

Through her work, Landgraf weaves in questions: "What does a ton of sand look like? The cost of a ton of sand was $84.64, but what is the cost to the aina, to the land?"

Her process is intricate and time-consuming. Landgraf shoots film, processing large silver gelatin, black-and-white photographic prints that she carves into, cuts, etches, engraves and layers with words. Each piece is an original.

First exhibited at the Maui Arts & Cultural Center, the work took four years to come to fruition and another year preparing for the Hono­lulu exhibit. The artist’s vision was the shovel, representing the gouging of the land and history running out through the holes in the blade. Bringing that vision to reality was a far greater challenge than the hundreds of hours etching the images.

The artist explains: "I had to find the right shovel. I did and bought 10. Then I realized I needed more. Of course, they weren’t available, so I had to start over, search more and find enough of the same shovels to make my statement."

The shovel is an art piece in itself. Landgraf says in a weary voice, discussing the steps in her installation, "First there were the holes (in the blade). I am not a mechanic. I burned out many Dremel tools and drill bits, drilling those holes." The color of the blade needed to be changed. Sacks of Quikrete came next. Dipping didn’t work, so she turned to hours of painting with wet concrete.

Then there are the thousands of words written on every handle, a Hawaiian chant used in the repatriation process if a grave site is identified before it is desecrated. Finally, Landgraf drilled a hole to balance the shovel as it hangs and spins over the puddle of not sand, but salt, contained so it doesn’t spread across the gallery floor.

One image has the name of every archaeologist "approved" by the state. In another engraved photo, the viewer must look through a wall of hollow cement tile to see the land beyond. Another piece is a photo turned 3-D with spoon-shaped cutouts describing the time when the search for iwi was so delicate that only a spoon could lift and sift the area.

Describing her work, Landgraf says, "I am compelled to celebrate my culture and share my feelings, popular or not, about the profound changes that continue to occur."