Version of this-

What version of this is our life? When your goal becomes to impersonate beauty, what version do you save as authentic to your own life? For the viewer, photographs tell stories. They are images that tell us something. They communicate ideas, hopes, emotions, dreams.

But when your job becomes faking these things. Creating these things. What version of it is your own? When are photographs a reflection of yourself or pure artifice? Even worse, what happens when you become so skilled at creation, that you can no longer tell what is authentic around you? What do these images say? What 'life' is here? What am I communicating?

What is above is a snippet of vapor. These shots do not exist before and they do not exist after. The relationship the viewer has between the woman and the idea she expresses is fake. She is looking, at you (the viewer) through me, my lens, my eyes. There is a relationship here, yet there is not.

Tender moments like this, a morning, a beautiful girl, bedsheets, the tanness of skin. These are things that us boys dream of. We dream of girls that roll around naked in bedsheets beckoning us backwards into love. But as real as it seems, it is not.

Faking everything is easy. Remembering what makes the authentic valuable- is hard. Eventually you create versions of reality as habit. You do it without thinking and this artifice, this engine of visual vapor works you, more and more. Until your life becomes no different than your pictures. And your pictures become no different than your dreams. And your dreams become no different from a day at work and a carefully choreographed version of what someone else's life might be, if their life was a beautiful as their dreams.