2020 - 2021
Q'20, 2020-2021, digital print, binding V2, paper back, 64 p., 27 x 24 cm, edition of 30.
the photographic statement captures sexuality, limited and affected by the social isolation. we watch more porn, single people get more desperate and frustrated. we’re all just horny. imitation. I wish I could take shots with them, real them made of flesh, skin and sperm. I imitate their presence in my bedroom, one behind the camera, another next to me, on my bed. tinder dates, pointless but vital. we’re acting like porn actors, fucking for hours and hours till it hurts, moaning, breathing heavily, pretending to be the last lovers on earth. who knows when the next date will happen. doing our best.
Imitation- I imagine his body roughly pressing my body against the bed. his fingers in my mouth, his mouth swallowing my moans, my hips burning.
I put my fingers into my mouth, take a shot. they keep asking me about my new lover and they have no idea that it’s just me, the tripod and my camera. It’s nothing more than just an intense gaze into the void, to the ceiling, to my neighbour’s window; how desperately I want to be watched. I love being watched. I miss being watched by the lovers, the strangers, I miss being possessed. even objectified. I sublimate my desire to being watched by taking self portraits, imitating their presence in my room, on my skin, inside my mouth. I fulfil my bed with my own body. sheets - not crumpled by someone else's body, but for mine, perfectly still.
I put my fingers into my mouth, take a shot. they keep asking me about my new lover and they have no idea that it’s just me, the tripod and my camera. It’s nothing more than just an intense gaze into the void, to the ceiling, to my neighbour’s window; how desperately I want to be watched. I love being watched. I miss being watched by the lovers, the strangers, I miss being possessed. even objectified. I sublimate my desire to being watched by taking self portraits, imitating their presence in my room, on my skin, inside my mouth. I fulfil my bed with my own body. sheets - not crumpled by someone else's body, but for mine, perfectly still.
longing for the intimate connection simply expressed in the shot of him spitting on my face. I watch them having sex in front of me. nothing like casual dates before this shit happened. no long and disarticulated, but still charming talks in the crowded bars. meaningless hook ups in one’s place instead.
just fuck and go, fuck and go, fuck and go. every touch gets absolutely new meaning, every touch is just enough.
