_.-:=|▓▒░░░░__slleep__░░░░▒▓|=:-._

 

Current Statement:

Oh I dunno what the hell I’m talking about. Let’s revisit this over the summer.

g2.jpg

February 2, 2019

In his book, 24/7: Late Capitalism and the Ends of Sleep (which I haven't read), John Crary rightly suggests that we are living in a "non-stop work site or an always open shopping mall with infinite choices, tasks, selections, and digressions." As a solution, my doctor, psychiatrist, therapist, family, and friends suggest what yours do: a cool, dark room, devoid light and electronic distractions. To wake up and go to sleep at the same time every day. To only use the bed for sleep “or sex.” Avoid alcohol. Seek behavioral treatments for anxieties and other negative thoughts. This is the one-size-fits-all consensus on the value of absence and has impregnated every pamphlet, flyer, and casual conversation anyone has ever had on insomnia since the industrial revolution. The problem is that not everyone does well in a void. Contributing to this sleeplessness has come an increase in anxiety and mood disorders that are often ironically described by those same voices as being worse off when left to their own devices. While I’m sure there is the potential to strike a balance there, what happens to you in the meantime? Be miserable?

SLLEEPdotnet is the evolving wreckage of a response, based on the concept that perhaps trying to shut off the busy world you’ve spent your waking life trying to adapt to every night might be unhelpful for some people. In that respect, this project is a platform for the curation of time, specifically the 1 to 5 hours it takes me to fall asleep most nights. SLLEEPdotnet is certainly is not a bandage, a therapy, or implicitly healthy. It is simply a place to be, trying to turn a shitty inevitability into a constructive one. A place to produce, a thing to stare at, to thumb around, or to fantasize within. An electric distraction that belongs to the inevitability of this specific chunk of time, highly personal and public, and abstractly crossfading between the two. It takes the form of a website not just for the platform’s fortuitous functionality, but because the Internet has always been a security for me in times of inevitable isolation. My computer has always been there for me.

Where content is concerned, what you see is that you get, but what is now likely won’t be later. This is an intuitive effort that will react to the culture of my time, changing with the seasons. Youll find multiple original and collaborative galleries, personal logs both obvious and indecipherable, soundworks, oddities unflinching and dynamic, easter eggs, passwords and other semi-interactive or static content. SLLEEPdotnet stays in motion to keep from asphyxiating. The vast majority of the content here is also created during the hours this space intends to serve.

January 17, 2019

In his book, 24/7: Late Capitalism and the Ends of Sleep (which I haven't read yet), John Crary suggests that we are living in a "non-stop work site or an always open shopping mall with infinite choices, tasks, selections, and digressions." My doctor, my psychiatrist, and my therapist suggest what yours do: a cool, dark room, devoid light and electronic distractions. To wake up and go to sleep at the same time. To only use the bed for sleep “or sex.” Avoid alcohol. Seek behavioral treatments for anxieties and other negative thoughts. An ironic, regimented consensus on the value of absence that has impregnated every pamphlet, flyer, and casual conversation anyone has ever had on insomnia since the industrial revolution. The punchline here is perpetuated by anxiety and mood disorders that feed on the two to four hours it takes to fall asleep every night, defecating unscratchable itches, forming a black lake that’ll swallow you no matter how hard you try to swallow it first. Yet, here I am trying anyway.

I can admit that this artwork (slleep.net) is likely to be neither a healthy, or even rational exercise. On some levels I'm sure it is even making things worse, trading the phantom of a long term solution for daily bandages. Everything you're not supposed to do, I'm doing most of it here; possibly right now. But there is something to be said for taking comfort in tonal noise, or rather the process of tuning it; the potential for catharsis in distraction. Idle hands are the devil's playthings and other such phrases come into play, threatening to lead this into a referendum on capitalism — something not unlike pointing out that the Universe is headed for an inevitable heat death, and has very little practical relevance right this second. So fuck that, this is an indulgence in right now. The missing scratch.

As another wise author once said, "sometimes you just have to pee in the sink."

Answering the question you didn’t ask, SLLEEP is the physical, living wreckage of this process, with at least one hopeful, wiggling arm sticking out of it. A nightly portal I plug myself into and invite you to overstay your welcome. An abstract, constructive space riffing on the incidental content experiments of the early the Internet. A counterpoint to my individual experience of insomnia and its inevitable isolation, manifested through logs, series of digital works, gallery projects, and other future components that sit comfortably in the folds between the intensely personal and the overtly public.

I have my own reasons for using using this artwork every night as a guide through the black lake, laid bare by content that is intensely personal, acting as a practical archive of my journey forward as an insomniac. Maybe you’ll recognize a bit of yourself in its reflections, or get something out of one o the themed galleries, or even find a few secrets. As this experiment expands, I intend for it to do so both inwardly and outwardly.

Private and public aren’t mutually exclusive.

There are no instructions.

None of this is what it will eventually be, so make sense of it while you can.

Original Statement, October 2018

In his book, 24/7: Late Capitalism and the Ends of Sleep (which I haven't read yet), John Crary suggests that we are living in a "non-stop work site or an always open shopping mall with infinite choices, tasks, selections, and digressions." My doctor, my psychiatrist, and my therapist suggest a cool, dark room, devoid light and electronic distractions. To wake up and go to sleep at the same time. To only use the bed for sleep “or sex.” Avoid alcohol. Seek behavioral treatments for anxieties and other negative thoughts. An ironic, regimented consensus on the value of absence that has impregnated every pamphlet, flyer, and casual conversation I've had on the topic of insomnia since I first realized that the decline of day had teeth. The punchline here perpetuated by anxiety and mood disorders that feed on the two to four hours it takes to fall asleep every night, defecating unscratchable itches, forming a black lake.

Admittedly, this artwork isn't necessarily a healthy, or even rational exercise. On some levels I'm sure it may be making things worse, trading the phantom of a long term solution for daily bandages. Everything you're not supposed to do, I'm doing most of it here; possibly right now. But there is something to be said for taking comfort in guided noise, and within the potential for catharsis in distraction. Idle hands are the devil's playthings and other such phrases come into play, threatening to lead this into a referendum on capitalism — something that is not unlike pointing out that the Universe is headed for an inevitable heat death, and has very little practical relevance right this second. So fuck that, this is an indulgence in right now. A scratch.

To quote another wise author, "sometimes you just have to pee in the sink."

Answering the question you didn’t ask, SLLEEPdotnet is the living wreckage of this process, with at least one hopeful, wiggling arm sticking out of it. A nightly portal I plug myself into and invite you to overstay your welcome. An abstract, constructive space riffing on the incidental content experiments of the early the Internet. A counterpoint to my individual experience of insomnia and its inevitable isolation, manifested through logs, series of digital works, gallery projects, and other future components that sit comfortably in the folds between the intensely personal and the overtly public.

There are no instructions. None of this is what it will eventually be, so make sense of it while you can. As this experiment expands, I intend for it to do so both inwardly and outwardly. Private and public aren’t mutually exclusive.