Things that happen under tables in the depths of my imagination.

I’m really far away from the place I took this photo a few weeks ago.

Winter is leaving.

I just love Henry David Thoreau.

To take part in a game and raise hell.

This is what I did the other day at the office after everyone had gone home. I can’t help but seeing a languid black tongue holding my body. An open mouth swallowing my day away.

Love,

S.

Never stop seeking for adventures, she said from under the table.

Some legs have a show of their own. Mine are in rehearsal.

That time of the year when you get goosebumps under the sun because there’s no way you’re jumping into those trousers again. It’s the time of the skirt and the dress, the slow slide towards bare feet. Hello, Spring.

Sometimes silence is good.

I believe that the most erotic poses of a woman don’t happen in the dephs of your imagination but a field of grass somewhere, hidden in a spot of the world that is not the prettiest, not the ugliest. A place were a girl just spreads an old towel to lay unwatched surrounded by some of her favourite things and nothing else. The most erotic moments are serendipity, when one reads, and plays cards, and drinks some wine and plays again with something else.

Here we go again. I’ve finally managed to take some self-portraits again that I hope you’ll enjoy in your own ways in the following weeks. I haven’t been missing because real life interceded but because I’ve been writing instead of grabbing the camera. But it’s been quite the same, a journey of discovery of my own sensuality -this time in words- of how elegant and delicate and intensely playful is my way of understanding sex.

I’m just writing for pleasure but I wonder if you’d like to read something, it’d be nice to know what you think! :-)

Love,

S.