"Lady in the streets, whore in the sheets." This was my mother's decree on how to handle relationships. How she ended up with a foul mouthed cusser cum celibate for a daughter, I don't quite understand, but I'm sure it'll make for an interesting dissertation one day.
However, I think it's safe to argue that there's an element of sexuality to my photography. I can't escape it and I don't try to. But in the spirit of learning how to explain my work and explain myself, I'll try to qualify it.
The act of sex is so physically close to the kinds of hysteria and distortion of self that I've seen in religious houses that I think there's a large part of me that actively hunts down anything that calls those early images to mind. Sex and sexuality are such universal and accessible acts and concepts that they become an easy target to me. In my mind, they're also presented as something safer to address.
Growing up, sex wasn't a dirty word. It was a fact of life, something everyone does and will do, but please don't be an idiot, darling. There's no shame in the body, no shame in enjoying the body, but there's shame in messing up said body. Therein lies the sin.
Or maybe I'm just full of shit.