Growth in dialing back
I always wanted to be a photographer of male erotic art. That part was clear from the start. What changed for me was the way I thought it had to look. At first, I was drawn to the idea of elaborate sets, moody lighting, and dramatic concepts. I thought that to make something beautiful or impactful, it had to be complicated. But over time, I realized the opposite is often true. The things that stay with me the longest are the simplest moments. A quiet gesture. A soft shadow. A look that lingers just a second too long.
There’s something powerful about catching a glimpse of desire in everyday life. A man adjusting his shirt, standing barefoot in the kitchen light, or stretched out across a cheap motel bed. These scenes aren’t designed. They just exist. And when you pay attention to them, they’re full of meaning. I started to see the erotic not as something separate from real life, but something woven into it.
That shift changed everything for me. I stopped trying to create fantasy and started trying to see more clearly. I let go of the pressure to impress or shock or deliver some big concept. Instead, I started focusing on what was already there. The curve of a spine, the tension in a hand, the way light hits skin at 4 in the afternoon. It sounds small, but it’s not. Those little things carry weight. They hold stories. They speak.
Photographing men in this way taught me how to slow down. It taught me to listen. To be curious instead of controlling. And in that process, I found my voice. Not one that shouts, but one that leans in. One that notices. One that lets things be what they are and still calls them beautiful.
People sometimes ask me if I’m trying to make a statement. I don’t really know. I think I’m just trying to feel something. And help someone else feel something too. That’s what good erotic art does, I think. It doesn’t just turn you on. It wakes something up. It reminds you that the body isn’t just something we use. It’s something we live in. Something that can be soft and strong and strange and holy all at once.
I don’t think I’ll ever be done learning how to see. But I know the mundane isn’t boring. It’s where all the good stuff lives. And if you look long enough, with the right kind of attention, it becomes clear that nothing is ordinary at all.
