thank you to the clouds
and the darkness of
losing the midnight moon before
outrunning the rain
thank you to Mabel
three turns and I'm 8,000 ft
our Lady of Sorrows
with a bluebird on her shoulder
drifting in a stranger's bed

a wet jaw at sunrise
after the races

published by

Deadbeat Club, 2023.

The pictures in Taylor Galloway’s “I Can Feel You Dreaming” are glimpses of things, sometimes slippery, peripheral, brief, furtive shadows in the margins; they’re slowly unraveling threads that you can’t quite follow back to anything, but that nonetheless feel like clues, pieces of a forensic puzzle; they’re trance visions, or something you briefly noticed while looking for something else. Perhaps they remind you of channel surfing through the foothills of sleep as you toss and turn in a motel bed, slowly emerging from a fever dream or hangover. They’re a sort of Rorschach test, fragments in one of the millions of landfills in the universal subconsciousness. They’re a note you find next to your bed in the morning, mysterious, undecipherable words in vaguely familiar handwriting. They’re a garden of forking paths, the start of a journey that has no clear beginning or end, beyond sleep.

Galloway has taken his lived coincidences and offered them up in what feels like a strange, yet familiar dream from which we awaken with wonder.

1st Edition of 400

48 pages, 32 images

5x7"

published by

Deadbeat Club, 2023.

The pictures in Taylor Galloway’s “I Can Feel You Dreaming” are glimpses of things, sometimes slippery, peripheral, brief, furtive shadows in the margins; they’re slowly unraveling threads that you can’t quite follow back to anything, but that nonetheless feel like clues, pieces of a forensic puzzle; they’re trance visions, or something you briefly noticed while looking for something else. Perhaps they remind you of channel surfing through the foothills of sleep as you toss and turn in a motel bed, slowly emerging from a fever dream or hangover. They’re a sort of Rorschach test, fragments in one of the millions of landfills in the universal subconsciousness. They’re a note you find next to your bed in the morning, mysterious, undecipherable words in vaguely familiar handwriting. They’re a garden of forking paths, the start of a journey that has no clear beginning or end, beyond sleep.

Galloway has taken his lived coincidences and offered them up in what feels like a strange, yet familiar dream from which we awaken with wonder.

1st Edition of 400

48 pages, 32 images

5x7"