Sexperimental began as a need to make something real—something physical. A personal form of storytelling. Each copy is unique, handcrafted, and shaped by the unpredictable rhythm of the creative process.
It started in hotel rooms. These in-between spaces—temporary, anonymous—turned into makeshift studios, cinematic backdrops, places to improvise. I wanted the book to carry that same energy, so I began weaving in hotel stationery, scribbled notes, and hidden elements tucked between pages.
There’s no single way to experience Sexperimental. It’s meant to be handled, interpreted, explored. The texture of the paper, the scent of ink, the weight of the materials—they’re all part of how the story unfolds. Each page is a scene, a fragment, a moment suspended.
Every reader becomes part of that process. Curating their own version. Like the moments behind the lens, no two copies are ever the same.
— you're not supposed to see this
Muse: does it matter? If I can make you fell, think, and create then perhaps I am as real as you need me to be
Photographer: but what if I made you up?and start letting me haunt you
— thank you for staying so close
Muse: then let’s call it sacred
let’s call it alchemy
you are no longer just documenting others
you are remembering yourself
— you were never just watching
He lowers the camera. For the first time, there is no pose, no direction-just presence.
— may cause desire memory or regret
— some parts of me are yours now
naked
dropped over the chair
like a question
heels still on
sheets on the floor
the bed's behind her
but she's not done yet
Photographer hoarse : you weren't what I imagined
• Muse without turning : "I wasn't here to be imagined." (beat)
I came to show you what you could hide from anymore
— rue lauriston studio, paris
may 25
— rue lauriston studio, paris
early march 25
and when she stepped in front of the camera, everything in me locked in.
focus
tension
desire
all in the same breath
I wanted her
or maybe just the version
I was creating - the one I could freeze
control
keep
— still sure you can handle it?
— Paris, early spring discovered by accident
— Ink smudged on the edge of a torn envelope, scent of vetiver and rain
if you felt something... it was mutual