I opened the door to find him standing there, soaking wet in the rain. He was a tall, wiry, twenty something with fine boney features and pale, almost translucent, skin.
He had piercing grey eyes that stayed fixed on me as we walked up the hallway to the studio - a mop of sleek black hair stopped just at his nape. He had all the makings of a beautiful Vampire, I thought.
He stayed for quite a few hours, talking feverishly about music and the Arts, until the sun set on our session and it was time to go out hunting.
Skin grafted from: Ptolemy, 33 years old.
Ptolemy was a fellow artist, a painter in his prime with coarse black hair, stubbled chin and dark, almost black, eyes that glinted at the prospect of what lay ahead... 'uncharted territory', as he put it. 'You come highly recommended,' he said. ‘That’s kind of you to say,' I replied as I turned back to face him.
He had already stripped down, bare, with hands raised above his head, as I dimmed the lights.
"Well then... shall we begin?"
Skin grafted from: Leq, 29 years old.
Leq was broodingly handsome and serious when he walked in. A former gymnast with a body that was scarred from punishing floor routines and a flexibility he was keen to show off in our session.
He was surprisingly clumsy to begin with, unsure of himself given his physical size in the tight space we shared, but he eventually worked out what I wanted from him and, standing there stretched out in front of me, I watched him transform into something dark and wonderful.
Skin grafted from: Heg, 29 years old.
Heg was a risk taker, I liked that about him. A playful young man with no inhibitions who was refreshingly open to being raw, exposed and vulnerable.
He’d gained more muscle from when we last met; his neck was thicker, shoulders wider, legs stronger. He asked if I’d noticed any change, eager for praise, as he lay there outstretched on the wooden floor.
‘Yes, perhaps,’ I said. ‘Why does it matter what I think?’
He looked up at me, paused a while and grinned...'because I say it does.'
Skin grafted from: Pax, 26 years old.
Pax was one of the quirkier characters to pass through the studio. A charming redhead with glassy blue eyes, long pale eyelashes and razor sharp wit.
We only spent an hour or so together but by the time he left I felt like I'd known him all my life. He was brash, with a boyish quality but despite his confident veneer, there was also something hidden, something tortured that lay just under the surface and remained unseen.
As I started to dig a little deeper, he got dressed and left as quickly as he'd come
Skin grafted from: Kiiop, 33 years old.
As it turned out, Kiiop and I shared a common interest that extended beyond our ‘professional’ relationship.
Having worked on numerous projects, we'd become comfortable and familiar with each other; however, it wasn’t until our last afternoon together that he let his guard down to reveal his 'dirty little secret'.
I always sensed there was more to him than met the eye but I never pried - better to keep a professional distance you see - and as he stood there staring at me in the fading light, the fear fell away from him and he let it out.
‘So, now that you know, do you think any less of me?’ he asked quietly.
I paused for a moment, smiled to myself and chose not to reply.
Skin grafted from: Blix, 39 years old.
He didn't strike me as 'model material’ when he walked in, particularly given his age, the Ink and the broken smile; however, there was no denying he was a well crafted thing of beauty and carried himself with such confidence and charm you soon overlooked these minor flaws.
'I've got a couple of things I'd like to try,' he said.
There was no shyness, no warming up required and nothing was off limits, which made for an interesting afternoon.
In-fact, when our time together came to a close, I couldn’t help wondering if we’d crossed the line somewhere... but that would wait for another day.
Described as 'peculiar and unsettling', Flawed is a collection of abstracts that twist our perspective on the human body.
The work leaves it all to the imagination, transforming the skin, muscles, hair and limbs of real people into something altogether different and unexpected, whilst retaining elements of their original texture and form.
Look closely what do you see?
Skin grafted from: Caleb, 25 years old.
It was a hot 35 degrees in the shade. Caleb was outside banging on the metal door - he'd come straight to the studio from his afternoon run.
'You're late.' I said as he pushed passed me down the dark hallway, sweat pouring down his back, tying his hair up high enough to catch the breeze on his neck.
He slumped in the old armchair, arms flung out on either side, holding a beer, one leg draped over the armrest.
'So what kind of thing are you after this time?' he asked.
'I'm not entirely sure,' I replied. 'Let's just see how things unfold, shall we.'