I’m not gonna lie, Los Angeles fucked me up last time.
Morgan Spurlock, who grew up along the same dirty river bank I did, invited me on his daytime talkshow debut. You’ll never see it, because he confessed to being a fucking mess a few months after we filmed it and right before he was going to start promoting the sequel to his most famous documentary. And quite honestly I almost respect him more for having the courage to be so raw and introspective than I did for selling out to tv only watched in waiting rooms.
But hours before we hugged on camera and sat on his couch for a staged conversation about honesty on social media, I had a panic attack in the hotel room that CBS shuttled me to with a private driver in a fucking Tesla because, somehow I get myself into these situations while everything I own is still locked up north in a box we built in the back of our fucking pickup truck. Still, I painted on my eyeliner in the morning all the same and all the makeup artist had to do was cover up the dark circles under my eyes from what she assumed was jetlag.
Like, the audience was paid for, and between takes there was a manager shouting into the microphone for everyone to stand up and cheer to win prizes, and it was like 100 degrees, and I wasn’t allowed to wear my black shirt and ripped jeans so I was wearing this awful floral jumpsuit, first of all. Then, the producer had a huge problem with the way I read lines they wrote about my life for the voice over, and asked me to read it again but ‘maybe when you’re talking about the sad parts of your life, sound ummm…. sad?’ like — okay. I just didn’t realize what I was signing up for and that there would be tissues and expectations of emotional bs.
I think maybe I was just so disillusioned by Hollywood after traveling the entire country, the stars in my eyes just exploded, and started this fire inside of me.
Between then and now, I kept myself busy totally fucking up things like an interview with tech-startup Automattic, chatting with the CEO of McCorporation via LinkedIn about my spontaneous and temporary idea of selling my soul to their regional marketing team, bathing in magnetic waves to measure my electric nerves, and busting out windows with my porcelain doll hands because I trusted a doctor who gave me a pill that stole months of my memories. Words were not enough anymore, and without my vocabulary, I couldn’t write.
I sold my camera the day we landed back in Seattle from LA, and only when I stepped away from the lens for awhile did I see how much of the picture wasn’t being captured. Experimenting with short form and poetry, I accidentally mastered and fell in love with the art of saying more with less. Learning to recreate the images in my mind, I found the freedom to translate body language and sensuality into self-expression. Entirely shutting down my blog, and my mind for that matter, allowed me to reconnect with myself and realize that I can preach authenticity til asphyxiation but I am lying through my teeth if I can’t be honest about the impact, and intensity, of my sexuality.
Only in a shattered mirror was I able to finally see how self-destructive I am. Struck by how beautiful all the broken pieces still were, I decided to put them back together.
So, I bought a new camera. And I’m over LA. And most importantly, all the fear.
// SO WHAT IS CONCEPTUAL ART AND WHY EROTICA?
Everything I have done in life has led me to this, and I want it to be perfectly clear that none of this is an accident. You can call it what you want, and take what you need, but please understand — that is how art works. As much as this was a choice, I made it on my own with very deep rooted reasons and a spark in my heart that will never die.
Sensuality, to me, is the core of our existence. In our most intimate moments, we are in our truest form, and all of the bullshit falls away. Navigating the dark waters of hell over the last year, I have become a very skilled escape artist. We can go anywhere with this tongue of mine and your hands on the wheel, and I’m always ready for an adventure.
For a decade down in Florida I lived a double fucking life, buttoning up my breasts and bending over backwards to meet impossible standards of beauty. Bouncing around each time I got bored, I was a barista at Starbucks, a yacht stewardess for celebrities, a party planner in south beach, a fucking HR director, and eventually, a suburban stay-at-home mom that sold stories about my life to hundreds of brands who would pay me to blog.
I left out the parts about my unfaithful, cocaine addict husband, and also the fact that I got everything I wanted with sex appeal. In between bubbly posts about my perfect, luxury family life, I also let strange men stick dollar bills in between my thighs at too many clubs, sold whips and vibrators in a feminist+lesbian-owned sex toy boutique, and carried on a secret relationship via text for more than ten years to cope with all my crushed dreams, until I ran away one day and showed up on his doorstep and then we got married in Vegas and now here we are, living a borderline fantasy in the Pacific Northwest. And trying not to fuck it all up.
There is no more time left on my clock for pretending. I have struggled for long enough with how to speak out and be my most genuine, natural self. The freedom I have found in opening up this channel of energy, in presenting myself as a whole, is worth every misunderstanding and every burnt bridge in my past. When I can’t find a release for all that builds up inside of me, I become a monster. Creativity comes from somewhere within, and I can’t control it, so by asking you to be my witness and participate in the art I create, I am coming full circle in more ways than you will ever know.
There will be NSFW content, yes, but no matter who you are or how we have met in this life, you are welcome to follow along as a reader with complete acceptance and without judgment. You will be respected here, and anyone who treats you otherwise will be ignored or banned. I have seen a lot of shit in life, and I appreciate the intricate chemistry of desire and what it can do. In fact, I kneel in awe of it, and anyone who is so comfortably fluid in their humanity that they radiate seduction for the sheer exhiliration of it all. We are no different than any other hedonistic society — we’ve just momentarily forgotten there is necessary value in pleasure. If my words and images stir emotion in you, or serve as a reminder to feel in some way, I will be satisfied.
And for those of you who have waited for me, thank you, it feels fucking fantastic to be back.