I’ve been thinking a lot about small moments. The ones that slip through. A color you mixed but didn’t use. A piece of paper that fell on the floor and stayed there. The ten minutes you sat quietly before everything got loud again.

Pockets of Time started there.

The concept behind the show is something I’ve been living more than planning. In our current climate, I can truly only handle things one moment at a time, one day at a time. Somehow, somewhere, that limitation became the work. What would it look like to treat every small, discarded, forgotten moment as something worth keeping? To gather it, hold it open long enough to look at it.

That’s what these works became. Fragments of paper, collaged together. Fabrics that pool and drape and don’t quite behave. Color squares that function almost like pauses, little moments of stillness inside all that accumulation.

Working alongside CoCo Haze, a collaborative artistic identity formed by my friends Tracy Hayes and Deb Read, felt like a natural extension of that thinking. What draws me to their practice is the way authorship disappears inside it. Their work is built through layered, durational mark-making, where marks are added, erased, and reformed. The work forms as a living archive shaped by shared presence over time. Those overlaps of perspective show up in unexpected places, in ways neither person could have done individually.

The pieces in Pockets of Time speak two languages at once. The large-scale installations: fabric pooling on the floor, works pinned and draped across walls, tape mapping the space between ceiling and ground, these hold the accumulation at full volume. Everything is present, nothing is put away. The smaller works on paper operate differently. Framed and hung close together, they are quieter pockets of the same thinking. Collaged fragments, gestural mark-making, bursts of color alongside moments of structured stillness. Squares that ask you to slow down inside all that energy.

Together they form a single conversation. The installations gather at the scale of a room, the works on paper gather at the scale of a single hour. Each piece is a discrete moment, held open. Each one is part of something larger that resists being finished.

Putting this show together gave me a much larger perspective of the idea. These moments, gathered from scraps of paper, lengths of fabric, fragments of mark-making, came together in ways I couldn’t have planned.

I also noticed something shift in my thoughts on space and large form. The installations I’ve made before were always in conversation with a singular moment, space as a way of externalizing what’s inside. However, accumulation at this scale starts to feel like something else entirely. An environment. Which brings me to the question I’m now asking myself: what would it feel like to be gathered inside a full room? Ceiling, light, sound, the floor beneath you. All of it becomes an accumulation of multiple layers and iterations.

I don’t have an answer yet to what that looks like or means, but Pockets of Time feels like the beginning of that exploration.