Sleep Creek by Dylan Hausthor & Paul Guilmoth


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Sleep Creek by Dylan Hausthor & Paul Guilmoth

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‘Sleep Creek’ blurs the borders of reality and fiction, the intention of the artists was never to confuse, but rather to build a place from the ground up, leaving little remnants of the place they initially set out to document.

Sleep Creek by Dylan Hausthor and Paul Guilmoth VOID tipibookshop

From a dirt nostalgia comes a soiled memory. The thoughts of childhood and that of my mother are both ancient. While one book transpires melancholic myths, the other is unbearably real.
Sleep Creek by Dylan Hausthor & Paul Guilmoth
My thoughts frequently originate from dreams, strange amalgams of a faraway past with current obsessions. I often write about dreams, as they stand more graspable than daily life. And so one night, in my dreams, I smelled the forest – the one from my childhood, the one that is both wet and dry. I was plunged into the depth of another era, perhaps fictive… my dreams having distorted history, but the haze of my childhood’s land had penetrated my mind and sleep through smells of the past.

Sleep Creek by Dylan Hausthor and Paul Guilmoth VOID tipibookshop

Sleep Creek, by Dylan Hausthor & Paul Guilmoth, sounds like a place that is neither village nor town, but a geography, bordered by smells and by earth, by its stories and inhabitants. The people here scarce but heavy, each is guardian of its persona. There’s the girl on fire, the embracing couple, the old botanist, the white illusionist, the shriveled nude, the forever fading woman. Like tarot cards, Moon, Judgement or The Fool, they each hold powers and curses – we all know them, and yet their mysteries succumb.

A vision of myself as a child, dwelling barefoot in ripped shorts, sorrowfully appears on the pages. Neither man or woman, a scout in a forest, narrating my findings, through iced snow or the withered forest. I am, or I was once, mischievous and strong in the lands that were mine.

Sleep Creek by Dylan Hausthor and Paul Guilmoth VOID tipibookshop

Fauna and flora is furthermore mystical in Sleep Creek, folks have settled, but it is the evasive creatures and the seeping nature which rules or haunts. A full spread of the blackest night is pierced by the radiation of bats, while in another, in the whiteness of the sky, five birds dance in shamanic circles. Both emptiness are triggered by the life of wings and clans. A solemn horse or a struggling deer, these images are portraits, both representations of our strengths and flaws, but also completely sovereign from humanness.

This world of folklore is far behind me. Today there are no tales other than ephemeral egocentrism, no symbols others than that of society, no more dirt on my feet, or cabin and treehouse for shelter. Animals have surrendered through forests, pale amalgams of a few twigs here and there.
Sleep Creek smells of fire, of backwoods, of island secrets. The facelessness of its myths cannot be compared to that of the city. It is infinitely more abyss, left at a bare yet overwhelming stage of human invasion.

Sleep Creek by Dylan Hausthor and Paul Guilmoth VOID tipibookshop

With golden incarnations and the sky luring above, Sleep Creek’s black images are illuminated from day to night. The patterns of nature are either lush or still, humans linger, snakes, spiders, owls and large animals peer into the enchanted mist. Friends or foes, that is left unanswered.

This text is part of The C.Sawyer project⁠.
The project cultivates a character – C. Sawyer – who interlaces his/her personal analysis of Tipi’s photobooks with his/her unfolding life, thoughts, routine, emotions, relations, etc. Every now and then C. Sawyer writes a chronicle based on a selection of books.

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Weight 0.900 kg