Untitled (After Harry Caray) is a series of three LED panels covered in white acrylic panels, installed on a white vinyl rail. Diffused behind the acrylic, blue text scrolls from right to left. The leftmost panel reads ‘IT COULD BE,’ the middle ‘IT MIGHT BE,’ and the rightmost ‘IT IS.’ The panels play not quite in sync, slowing down or overtaking each other. 

Harry Caray’s voice is one of the best known in baseball. A longtime announcer for the Chicago Cubs, his iconic home run call (IT COULD BE…IT MIGHT BE…IT IS, A HOME RUN!) lives on over the airwaves in all manner of highlight and replay reels. 

The body of work in MOONSHOT emerged from a guiding question: does it matter if something is ‘true,’ if its result is ‘real’? For former MLB commissioner Bart Giamatti, the call of the game, the collective experience it fosters, is the “only place that [the game] will last”—the “enclosed green field of the mind.” Giamatti believes that the game is ‘truest' at its most experiential and least quantifiable: the part that promises the most magic, that lives outside of time. 

A ‘moonshot’ in baseball is a home run ball so toweringly high that it feels like it could enter orbit, a ball that feels like it may never land. We might always know its path is finite, but that space between the crack of the bat and when the ball returns to Earth can still house seemingly infinite possibility. In some ways, it has to.