On Mon, Oct 9, 2017 at 6:31 AM, Camille Richert wrote:
Good morning, Tyler!
I hope you have spent a quiet night. At the time I am writing this email, you are probably just beginning to sleep whilst I am beginning my workday. I hope this industrious digital fluid sent from Paris to New York will not affect your sleep. Asking you to work on our interview while I am aware you are sleeping at the moment makes me feel a bit guilty. But in a way, maybe we are freer by answering during one other’s sleep. In my opinion, there is always something very liberating in writing in the night: in one’s own night, or in somebody else’s night. During the past year, I used to write during the night when I had nothing to do early in the morning, because of this feeling of freedom: I went to bed around 4 or 5 or sometimes 6am, then I woke up at 10am and went back to my desk from 11:30. A short nap of one and a half hours in the afternoon helped me continue until 4am…and so on. That was a perfect rhythm for my body and soul. As of this year (and because of new professional activities), I have had to radically change the way I am working. Or the way I am sleeping. Truth be told, when I picture work and sleep, they’re two sides of the same coin.
I am writing this email because I have been commissioned for an essay about sleep and fantasy in contemporary art as ways of fighting against current and worldwide work conditions. I am deeply and personally convinced of not being the only one who experiences this confusion. And I guess we share the same impression, since…