"My consciousness has developed in front of a mirror; I have learned what it is like to look out at the world alongside a constant awareness of what it is like to have the world looking at me." 


I don’t know how to begin. I can’t talk about my relationship to my body without talking about sex, and my parents are going to read this.

So, hey, I’m Joslyn and I’m the photographer who’s been taking all these naked photos. I haven’t participated before now because I was worried about being sexualized – or more specifically, offering myself to be sexualized, giving everyone (the whole entire internet!) permission to look at me sexually.

I feel regularly overwhelmed with sexual attention. Whether or not I actually receive an inordinate amount of sexual attention compared to most people or whether I am just neurotic and self-conscious about this attention is unclear. What is clear to me is that I have no interest in inviting more.

And yet I do.

My consciousness has developed in front of a mirror; I have learned what it is like to look out at the world alongside a constant awareness of what it is like to have the world looking at me. I cannot separate the two. I look out through a deeply ingrained feeling that I possess a great deal of sexual worth.

But this is not a celebratory sense of worth. It is the knife’s edge of affirmation and shame. I grew up with religion and another deeply ingrained feeling that sex is bad. There is a counter-dialogue in my brain that says people think you are sexy and being sexy is not valuable. I feel I am most valued for the thing I am most afraid of being valued for. The source of my praise is the source of my self-reproach.

Of course this isn’t a coincidence. In a backwards way I ask the very thing that makes me feel unworthy to prove my worth.

This project began with a simple idea: our bodies are our instruments, our vehicles of expression, and this should be rejoiced.

All this time I have felt like I could not participate in this rejoicing because I did not feel I could truly be naked, that if I took my clothes off I would still be wearing the cloak of my shame.

The switch was this: I’ve spent the past few months fixing up an old camper that I’m about to drive to the Yukon and live in. Most of my days are spent quietly working at making my new ‘mobile apartment’ livable, learning simple but previously unknown manual skills, using my body to prepare a home for myself.

I feel truly naked here: in this space my own body is building.

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