Restless Dreams came together during a stretch when very little was settled. Stolen half-hours, bits of time, no plan, and my favourite pen.

I expected this piece to look like it was coming apart. It doesn't. The marks crowd and push and fold through each other, dense in places, opening up in others — a contraction and expansion, the whole thing always holding. It found its own edge too, rather than taking the one the page offered.

That's what I keep coming back to. Restless and holding. Both true at once.

This work, admittedly, sat in a file for months before I had it professionally scanned. Seeing it again through an alternate lens, what struck me was the density — how none of it was planned and all of it works. It is, to me, peacefully chaotic. A contradiction I've stopped trying to resolve.

The title arrived late too and I still don't know which restlessness holds truest. The kind that moves underneath you while you sleep, or the conscious kind — the ache attached to a dream you're reaching for, a life you're hoping toward. I haven't decided. I'm not sure I need to.

This work is available