D: Tell us a little about yourself, and maybe one secret

W: Whenever I go to the swimming pool and realize too late that I have forgotten my towel, I go into a washroom stall as casually as I can and dry myself to the best of my ability with my underwear (it’s the only piece of clothing I can get away with not wearing in public)

In spite of my relative dryness, I can’t help but think others are noticing that my towelling down isn’t 100% perfect when I’m walking out of there (my neck hairs are matted, and I’m walking like I’m cold). I worry a lot that I’m being judged for the fact that I am a wet-bodied unkempt heathen.



D: Why’r you so jazzed up on artists’ books, zines or printed matter in general?

W: When it comes to zines, I think it has a lot to do with satisfaction for me. When I look at all the zines I’ve made together, it’s like looking at a bunch of nicely packed tupperwares in a clean refrigerator, each labelled with contents and date.

It’s about compartmentalizing information. A book is a little container for what-so-ever you choose. What’s in there is (physically) in there, and you can open and shut it. While I hesitate to say that experiencing something this way is impossible elsewhere, it is definitely easier, and makes the most sense right now to do it with printed matter.

On top of all that, when it comes to producing books, there are a lot of “knobs” you can turn, tune, and sometimes even do away with entirely to alter the often consumptive experience that is reading. The page is a knob, the content of the page is a knob, the way the page is turned is a knob, the front and back cover are knobs, the list here goes on.


D: What were some of the motivations behind ‘Sleep’?

W: Time and space have become increasingly important themes in my work as of late. While I realize this sounds both passé and cliché, let me try to explain. Recently, my partner moved back to the Netherlands, and the 9-hour time difference has made clocks very important to me. I’m really conscious of time, now. I can’t help but think of a Nicolas Bourriard lecture in which he says that the times we live in have observed a gradual trading of properties between time and space (loose quote). While I am nearly certain that what I take this to mean is a mere eidolon of Bourriard’s intent, I blame it on him for saying it in such a romantic way.

Sleep is time, and so it is space. When you are in your room in the dark, and going to sleep, your bed is sliding down desert hills of warm, black sand. That sand is also inside your head, and if you shake your head vigorously enough, you will find yourself sneezing it out. Sleep, memory, time, and space are like cousins with matching socks in a big bed.


D: The other day you were telling me about your recent visit to the Rietveld Academie. Was there anything promising about that trip that you think will carry over into your work?

W: When I walked into Gerrit Rietveld, we were accosted by a pissed-looking girl covered in gray dust who explained she and her class-mates had been in the basement pounding clay with dowels for the last 3 hours. I later saw the products of their pounding on display, and they were just excellent. Whatever is interesting about this little story is something that I think is ubiquitous to both the academy and the city. I’m hoping some of that rubbed off on me.

D: Any s/o’s?

No shout outs.





Will Dereume is an artist based in Vancouver, BC (b. 1992)  with a special interest in small publications,  Artists’ Books, and zines. He occasionally writes blog entries for the ECUAD Artists’ Book Collection.

‘sleep’ is a small publication developed for DDOOGG and KIOSK @ L.A. Art Book Fair 2016. Available through shop.ddoogg.ca.