If you have seen me out and about past 10pm, you can usually picture a man refusing to wear pants and constantly under dressed for the weather, and mistaken for a version of Taylor Momsen, but if I stopped dressing for myself and started matching my socks to approaching climatic patterns then I become a marketing ploy to the style life of commandments. Being a slave to fashion doesn’t mean Stockholm is involved. Bring it round to 3am and somehow lawyers have disappeared, dripping to the last beats echo. But no one is ever shocked or in awe as fashion and sex have gone hand and hand for decades now. However you can rest to sure clothes never blur the lines to streaking, stripping, or flashing although one may misinterpret one as a working girl, a compliment to my rye and ginger glossed eyes until now. Recent collaborations have left me to peel off those last few layers in the name of Sex, Health, Politics and Art, something I rarely ever saw in my pasts futurehood. Figured maybe a ‘leaked’ sex tape to jump start a novelist career, a cell phone photo wrecking a job opportunity, or to speak the truth about animal cruelty in the world but never at the hands of publication or canvas. Thought I left the nude photography days back in High School after abuse of grape juice and Liquor under nightscaped tombstones for a best friend’s project. Now in a more authentic glory on the glossy pages of 2Bmag’s Sex & Health Issue sporting an old friend the bow tie and nothing else but a massive… photo lens.
Was I nervous biking over stop signs after red lights, a smeared metaphor campaign asking me to opt out. What would my mother think? What would Jesus do? Am I out of shape? Will Photoshop be a friend of foe? Luckily, for me especially in terms of what I’m wearing or not wearing, I have lost sense to care what family thinks or to imagine a life form in the sky with a huge head and beard instructing nuns to measure young girls skirt lenghts with a ruler and scowl.
I believe that should be left to more instructive tyrants,Wintour in an employee lay off sweep. Even luckier to be in the hands, figuratively, of César Ochoa , whose work you can see in upcoming YES art Expo, and Editor Jordan Arsenault, who leaves no choice but to be comfortable and fierce. A duo convicted in the beauty of the body’s form, no matter shape, color, gender cluster, or wreckage.
Though this shoot was not alcohol induced, though the time of agreement may have been, I took it off again just two weeks later after a few glasses of vino, an enchantment of a Pete Doherty recreated, and guilted in the sanctity of art, feminism, diversity, and a hopeful fulfillment for the photographers duties and this time leaving nothing to onlooker imagination. And though you might get sick of seeing my bare necessities all over Montreal magazine stands, I’ll promise to keep it all on in the streets. Pick up Danik in his birthday tux alongside other emerging queer artists and figures such as bootytastic slut Djette, The Salivation Army in 2Bmag now!