photographer. dreamer. writer. artist. professional. delighted. adoring. a bit cat obsessed. wildly lucky.
this is my blog for, well, everything. thoughts. poems. art. photography. fanfiction. life. love. ♥
in lines and word
we couch the meanings of our movements
with unnecessary sentiment
so that maybe when our eyes linger
too long on the soft and meandering lines
of body and of blood
we look less like lovers
and our eyes may hold back moments
that mean everything.
septembermorning asked: As a female fetish photographer, I have to say, thank you for the way you portray women. There's a sensitivity to your vision that isn't found in most other male fine art photographers, and it shows. You view the women in the photos as sexual beings - as they should be - but in a clearly defined poetic manner. It's dreamy and sensual and all things art, and I wanna be you when I grow up. <3 Rock the fuck on.
Wow thank you so much. I can’t even tell you how happy I am to here that my work is coming off across in the manner that I really intend it to. I don’t photograph for other men. I love doing what I do because the models I work with love doing what they do, and it leads to work that artistically expresses something that we can both be happy with.
I feel like this comes across both in my erotic and my nature work. Its a combination of how we see things.
I know exactly how you feel, and I am so glad to have made you smile. I get that same response from my models - it’s not about other people. It’s about themselves. They view themselves as these beautiful creatures, and my purpose in being there is to do my best to capture that.
There is nothing more amazing than the light in someone’s eyes when they realize that you seem them in the same beautiful way as they feel, deep inside. We all want to be sexy. We all want to be beautiful. Sometimes it just takes an outside source to show it to us.
i find these bits of you stuck in
your hair, tangled in my underwear drawer,
long strands of inelegant reminders that
everything falls apart.
we rode the bus fifteen miles to the end of the city
where the waves crashed against a pier, where
a thousand lovers made wishes
and when your cigarette had burnt out, you gave it to the seals
scorning the disapproving mother
because you were just that god-damn punk -
(but the next day, you took it back, and glared at someone
and muttered about fixing the world
one stupid trash bag at a time).
the thing i liked best about you
besides your inability to keep your hair on your head
was when you would laugh too hard, and start snorting
and one time - yes, i remember that time -
you fell off the bed and peed yourself
and we were both embarrassed and kind of aroused
and we were drunk
and that was the only time -
yeah, i remember.
but it ended like that, where it built up
a tumbled set of words that fell upon each other and out of your mouth
with your pale pink lips
the same colour as a business woman’s coral coat
and just as sincere.
sometimes i find the love notes you wrote me,
tucked between the pages of my childhood journals,
where i hoped i would never see them again
but the truth is
i just don’t think i’ll ever
and that’s okay.
yeah, it’s okay.
i hope you know
that you are the blackness
and the light.
i need the world to believe in
black & white
in the trembling lines between blurry and focused
where your eyes have lifted for half a second
and there i am
and there we are
i need for you to step forward
and in that breath, to exist as the perfect moment
- the perfect moment -
the only one,
- but only for this moment,
as the next, and the next
and after that, the next
will be as equals.
Give me lust, baby.
Give me malice.
Give me detached existentialist ennui.
Give me rampant intellectualism as a coping mechanism.
- Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk
Hi, my name is Kayleigh. I’m public about many things in my life, but there are things I scoot around the edges, so that it’s not quite so obvious. People who know me, know, but I’ve never fully publicly admitted who, and what, I am.
There are a lot of reasons people stay closeted, and I am of two different mindsets on this. I believe every individual has the right to make that choice for themselves, and the right to do what they feel necessary in their situation. However, I also realize that feeling it a necessity to stay hidden only perpetuates a fear-based gap in society. By acknowledging that certain things “should” be hidden, we give them the power of being *worth* being hidden. Which is untrue. We should not fear our own sexuality, or our own life choices. We should be able to feel no need to make them public - but society is not there yet.
Maybe one day. Maybe.
But Kayleigh, you say. You are a middle-class white female with a male fiancé, living in an upper middle-class white neighborhood in a very family-oriented city. What would you know about staying closeted?
There are different closets. And today I’m not just talking about sexuality. As a society, we pretend that if you are not “normal”, if you are not “standard,” then you have things worth hiding. Things that you shouldn’t be open about, for fear of other people judging you. The things you don’t post on your Facebook, for fear that some future employer will find out that - gasp, shock - one time, you made out with a girl while drunk at a party.
But I don’t believe in the stigma of closets. I believe that by allowing ourselves to fear something, we have something to fear.
Hi, my name is Kayleigh. And I don’t believe in hiding who I am. And I believe, that if this is something I promote, then I should be just as honest with the world as I expect the world to be with me.
I am bisexual. I have been since I was twelve. It caused a fuss at school, and then it died down in adulthood. By treating it like a nonissue, it has always been a nonissue.
I am polyamorous. I date multiple people. Sometimes women, sometimes men. I involve myself, long-term, with multiple people. This is what makes me happy.
I am kinky. To be fair, I think everyone’s kinky, and we’re just all into different things. I think kinky is a sex-positive state of mind, where I allow myself to enjoy who I am, without questioning my right to enjoy my life as I see fit.
I have a mental illness. This is one of the hugest, quietest social stigmas. I have chronic depression and obsessive-compulsive disorder. I am very public about this issue, because not talking about these things is how people fail to seek help.
None of these things change who I am, or who you thought I was ten minutes ago. These things are who I have always been. And that’s the way it should be. Society should be capable of acknowledge that people are, well, people - with all their variations, with all their quirks, with all their tics - and that doesn’t make them lesser, or different, or inherently worth less.
Change starts with one person, with ten people, with a crowd, all willing to stand up and take a chance. And if I can’t be part of that change, how can I expect the world to change around me?
I am not idealistic enough to think that one day, we will live in a world without stigma. We’re people, not saints. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I like people. I like people, with their differences, with their personalities. And that’s what I want to celebrate, today.
Be yourself. And even if you can’t be honest with the world about it yet, I hope at least you can be honest with yourself.
the slightness of your wrists
like bones buried in sand
i carried my windswept heart to another ocean
where the waves are warmer, and the sun is brighter
and the sand glitters white under my broken feet.
the sadness of your eyes,
like buried treasure in another lover’s chest -
i’m just sitting at the end of the world,
wondering when you’ll find your way