Look I am going to be honest here.
I can be sexy. I can look good.
And I know that when I put out photos of myself online that are deemed sexy and beautiful, I get lovely reactions.
But is this making an impact? Is this bringing a message?
Not really.
So to me, it’s not interesting. (anymore). I used to find this digital attention very alluring and would be busy with it.
But now I give less fucks about the online likes and comments.
Sexy photos are not going to make the world a better fucking place.
Pieces that show the rawness, express the intrinsic relationships that we have developed here on a myriad of different levels and depictions of the ugly chaos that signifies where we are at right now.
The collective suppression of my expression will be halted right in its tracks.
From here on out, my voice will be heard and I will be seen.
By the shere will of my creative outlet that cannot be stopped anymore.
It is here to stay.
It is here to speak.
It is here to create.
It is here to bring forth the ideas I have been hiding in my heart and to surrender to it.
The pressure to be ‘perfect’ in every way is interwoven into every fabric of our society.
But why? What is it about being perfect that has captured the imagination of everyone and has plummeted us into a place where mistakes and flaws are seen as un-perfect and ‘bad’?
No more.
Allow the masker of perfection to drop and dive into the perfection of your unperfection.
Where you are allowed to just BE.
Show the realest you in which everything is there.
And nothing is hidden.
There lies beauty in showing the flaws.
There lies our power.
There lies our essence.
