Entering the gallery, I am greeted by five wooden pedestals of varying heights, each supporting dried lavender. The subtle fragrance permeates the air, though not as strongly as I might have expected, relying more on the memory of its scent. It immediately pulls me inward, evoking a sense of personal introspection and nostalgia, setting the stage for a deeply reflective experience. Lavender, often symbolic of calm and healing, frames the show in a way that isn’t just visual but sensory, priming the mind for a meditation on love, discovery, challenge, and the quiet moments in between.

As we approach artwork, it’s often in a search for understanding—a need to dissect and rationalize, to engage with an artist’s process in the hopes of unlocking meaning. We talk about how the artist uses material, concept and form, and we often rely on conversation with others to share our takeaways. But James Talbot’s show defies that impulse. Instead of dissecting the works, I feel compelled to simply be. The lavender, the simplicity of the pedestals, and the photographs invite silence rather than conversation. The usual desire to intellectualize art falls away, replaced by an urge for solitude, introspection, and emotional reflection.

Moving through the pedestals and photos from left to right, I realize how much Talbot’s work evokes a personal dialogue rather than an outward discussion. The objects in the photographs—seemingly ordinary—slowly reveal themselves as vessels for memory and emotion. Accompanying the visuals are short, poignant phrases that read like excerpts from personal letters. One piece in particular stops me in my tracks: “I didn’t expect it to be like this.” Simple, yet so full of weight. And just beneath it, the words “you know” hang there, almost whispered. This is more than just a letter to a partner—it is a direct conversation between Talbot and the viewer, inviting us to confront our own vulnerabilities and unspoken emotions.

What strikes me most is the way Talbot’s narrative becomes entangled with my own. His work, which clearly reflects on his personal experiences, manages to hold space for the viewer’s inner world. His prompts and photographs are subtle yet layered, creating a dialogue that encourages me to think about my own journey with love: the early thrill, the challenges of partnership, the small moments that go unnoticed but form the fabric of our lives. In his work, I see echoes of my own story: the times I’ve paused to reflect, to question, or to appreciate the fleeting beauty in a shared glance or a forgotten object.

The objects in Talbot’s work are simple, everyday things like a closed blind or a train track. They become powerful in their simplicity. They aren’t just objects; they are markers of memory, reminders of moments that often slip through the cracks in our busy lives. His photographs don’t need to shout to be heard. They have a quiet, observational quality, almost as if they are waiting for the viewer to slow down enough to meet them where they are. The more I look, the more I realize how much life is packed into these still images. They feel like snapshots from dreams or fragments of a forgotten past—familiar yet of unknown origins.

One photograph, “Something here is new,” captures a miniature train track curving into a cold, snowy landscape. The scene is unremarkable at first glance, yet it holds a quiet intensity. The fake snow and the simulated tracks suggest something far deeper than their surface. Perhaps it’s a metaphor for travel, for family during the holiday season, or even for turning a corner in life, moving away from something or toward something new and unknown. This delicate balance between the mundane and the profound runs through Talbot’s work, creating a space for the viewer to project their own narratives and emotions.

As I move through the exhibition, I keep coming back to the title: I Spent The Last Year Learning to Love Green. What does it mean to learn to love green? For Talbot, green feels like a metaphor for growth, renewal, and even challenge. It’s a color that can symbolize both envy and hope, new beginnings and difficult transitions. It’s as if Talbot is inviting us to consider the ways in which we grow and how we come to terms with the parts of our lives we didn’t choose or the aspects of love we didn’t expect. His photographic narrative, coupled with his evocative text, asks us to reflect on our own journeys, our own capacity for tolerance, growth, and change.

What lingers after viewing Talbot’s work is not just the images themselves but the emotional residue they leave behind. His ability to distill complex emotions into simple, understated compositions is striking. The wooden pedestals, the bare frames, the muted colors—they all speak to an honesty and vulnerability that feels rare in today’s often flashy, hyper-saturated art world. The mustard yellow text, bold but un-intrusive, casts shadows behind the glass, creating an almost ghostly sense of reflection—life’s echoes, both past and present, lingering just out of reach.

By the time I leave the gallery, I realize that Talbot’s work has not only invited me to reflect on his life but on my own. His photographs, paired with the sparse, evocative language, stir something within me, a reminder to slow down, to appreciate the small moments, the overlooked objects, and the quiet pauses that fill our lives. I leave with a sense of renewal, a reminder to embrace the present and to carry forward the lessons from the past. Talbot’s exhibition isn’t just a visual journey; it’s a deeply personal, introspective one. It’s about learning to love green, yes, but also learning to love the unspoken, the unfinished, and the imperfect moments that define us.

James Talbot: I Spent The Last Year Learning to Love Green, Utah Museum of Contemporary Art, Salt Lake City, through Nov. 2

All images courtesy of the author.

Nolan Flynn

Raised in a creative Michigan household, Nolan Patrick Flynn developed an early passion for art. He moved to Utah to pursue an MFA at the University of Utah and continues to create art out of his Salt Lake City studio and teach high school art at Stansbury High School.