Four Chambers

There's something so special about adult films pre internet digitization, VHS tapes copied and circulated in your community, mailing lists and screening parties and brown paper bags were the distribution model. The intimate privacy of a time capsule contained in a black plastic film cartridge, hidden in the back of a drawer, labelled as something inconspicuous so as not to arouse suspicion - hidden treasure.

The serpent deceived me, and I ate. Celebrating what is tactile, smooth, and sticky.

Our orgies are acts of ritual celebration that against the odds, somehow, still here in the writhing and intertwining of smoke, sweat and bodies.

Set in the 1600s, a group of women are filled with an uncontrollable desire to run, touch, and tear themselves apart

Transgression in the form of unyielding bodies melding together and the rebirth of self it causes

The intersection of Femininity and The Grotesque, when femme-ness, glamour, glitter is exaggerated to the point of excess, stomach-turning glistening, gluttonous, grossness. Gorgeous with emphasis on the gorge.

An exploration in narcissistic desire, a kind of autoeroticopsis in being the subject of desire for yourself.

A Botticelli made flesh, two artist’s models in the studio sitting for a painting, laid out in the sun. Marble statues draped in sheets, wetness and warm summer air, gold, green grass on skin, the hum of insects.

Textures and second skin causing confinement only to be released, squeezed through.

Softness and wetness and opening yourself up. About consuming and feeding, being merged and joined. One consuming the other, both folding into each other, temporarily one.

We record, broadcast and replicate our images on an unprecedented scale. Observing and seeing.

The invisible lines that bind us together become tangible.

Not fucking but being fucked. Being taken. Taken out of your brain and into your body. Sex that knocks sense out of you for a second. Where you’re weightless and grounded, pinned and stretched. No pleasantries, no thinking just being and doing. Guts, sweat and pumping blood. Giving up and giving in to your body.

This is an exploration of screens and how they translate the visceral flesh of sex and bodies and what that now means today in an age of digital pornography. In short, fuck being reduced to 'muse' - in art, in porn, in life, whatever.

Treating bodies like botany, in intense, investigative close up, scientifically graphic, reveals them at their most intimate but also maybe their most anonymous and dissociated.

Indulgence in it's first form

The period of time when the sun falls below the horizon line and tears of blue and orange gradiate the sky. I’ve always called this indigo hour but apparently it’s more commonly called blue hour and the Scottish call it the gloaming.

Momentum, moments, movement mix together in bliss.

Porn aesthetics and archetypes are fascinating, sex on film has always been innovative, at the forefront of pushing technology and creativity. Being pushed to the margins means you’re forced to make new rules and create your own visions, processes and traditions. Porn world developed its own visual language, signs and semiotics.

It wasn't night and it wasn't day, but some lurid third interval that had suddenly slipped between them and would never end.