How to check for accuracy
How does time impact experience? How does experience shape time? This work marks the first time I asked myself how far I could go without moving at all. It also marks the first time I consciously engaged with jamais vu. This concept is the less commonly used opposite of déjà vu, where the familiar becomes strange, and the known feels unknown. Like much of my work, this piece unfolded through iterations.
In its initial form, an interval clock rests on a podium, accompanied by written instructions. To the side, a pair of over-ear headphones plays a recording of me counting time in the "one, one thousand" format, for ten minutes. The audio track, lasting 19 minutes, is the time it took me to count those ten minutes.
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The instructions present two possible paths for the participant/viewer:
Path One:
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Wind the timer to 10 minutes.
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Push the lever down on the side and begin counting down seconds in the format of "one, one thousand," "two, one thousand," etc.
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Begin keeping track of the minutes you're counting.
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The timer will start counting down ten minutes, and an alarm will sound at the end.
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Note your own timing and how close you are to the timer.
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At the ten-minute mark, check your progress for accuracy.
Path Two:
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Wind the timer to 10 minutes.
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Put on the headphones.
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Push the lever down on the side.
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The timer will start counting down ten minutes, and an alarm will sound at the end.
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Begin keeping track of the minutes I am counting, noting your progress by when I start over after "sixty one thousand."
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Note your own timing and how close I am to the timer.
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At the ten-minute mark, check my progress for accuracy.
This simple work places the artist in a state of transformation. As I count, my voice, the words, and the world around me shift. The only constant is my effort to stay accurate and count correctly.The viewer or participant is invited into an experience where the boundaries of time become fluid.
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In this space, the very act of counting becomes a meditation on the psychology of time. A reflection of how we stretch, compress, or lose it in the currents of our experience. The rhythmic pulse of seconds, the slip of attention, and the distortion of chronological order expose the fragility of our relationship with time. The experience becomes not just about the measurement of moments but about the weight each moment carries, how it bends and warps depending on where we place our focus. Time is not simply passed; it is shaped, fractured, and reassembled in the process of living.
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The other work in the series builds on the first, inviting the viewer into both a literal and figurative journey through the installation space. This six-channel video installation unfolds in a cyclical narrative with a clear beginning, middle, and end. It begins with the interval clock and culminates in a close-up of my face as I count off ten minutes in the "one, one thousand" format. Between these moments, a tunnel symbolizes the transition from the inner world to the outer, evoking the classic cartoon trope of stepping into one world only to emerge in a completely foreign one. The viewer is not allowed to settle as they move through the space; my voice competes with the noise of the tunnel, which blends sounds both near and far—loud and indistinct, impossible to understand yet ever-present. This auditory chaos propels the viewer forward.
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