These are so painterly and warm, and pull again at that yearning to be
care-free and vulnerable. I love the splash of water in the bottom right
quadrant of the first one, and what the fabric looks like in the second
one, meandering up and across the frame.
I’m obsessed with the mood of this set. With the second photo
especially, I can *hear* the echoes of the cold concrete, I can feel the
chill of the wet fabric and hair. There’s something athletic and
dance-like in these movements, but they aren’t ethereal
levitation jump shots. This is someone violently throwing themselves at
the floor, the walls.
As someone usually preoccupied with stillness, my favourite thing about
Alveoli Photography’s work is actually how it always feels on the verge
of coming to life. I can look at his images and feel that they are
moving and breathing. Also I genuinely think
Tiffany Helms is one of the most talented faces out there right now.
Her expressions are so genuine, she can tell an entire story, sell an
entire image with her eyes. I can’t decide with this one whether she
might be inviting the viewer in or walking them
It’s really hard to pick favourites when it comes to Bao’s work. I
really love that these have the signature hazy glow, like a daydream of
what summer could be or has been. I think what draws me to this set is
the impression that
her subjects are care-free. They feel candid, and the distance between
the lens and the subjects adds to the feeling of having freedom and
space to be. There are an abundance of photos with similar ingredients
(groups of nude women by the water) but the results
here don’t call to mind nymphs, sirens, or mermaids. In short, no
When I first looked at you in the almost-dark, scared that you would not like my breasts. That I would see disappointment on your face. But you still pushed me to touch you, my fingers climbing your back as I held you and kissed you near your mouth.
Years pass and I’m used to your hatred of overhead lighting. I expect it when you reach over to turn on the desk lamp or light a candle I don’t like the smell of, wax and apple cinnamon. I’m grateful for the way you now know my body so well it’s not necessary for you to see me, but yet you still want to look.
I’ve always felt like I was taken from the sea. When I was little I told my mom that I had been born human by mistake and should have been a fish. I had an uncanny knowledge of ocean life by the age of six, so precise it made adults uncomfortable. On through elementary school, I traipsed around the house in homemade mermaid tails. When I started drawing girls (and only girls), I drew them with fins, seaweed wrapped around their limbs and chests.
I don’t know when this became a dual desire. I used to want to be a mermaid more than anything in the world and now just as often I think of being with one. This photo brings up emotions in me that someone normal might save for a favorite model—jealously and awe mixed with a strong undercurrent of attraction.
My poems sometimes feature girls who could lazily transform into something more than human—girls who take too long in the bath, until their skin is wrinkled and they can dip their heads beneath the water without having to come up for air.