I watched him standing silently on the hill, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow behind him, silhouetting his figure in a striking contrast. His masculine body was perfectly sculpted: defined arms and legs, a light fuzz of hair in just the right places, each detail subtly revealing itself. He was grasping his erect cock firmly, slowly moving his hand. Sometimes it was just a dark outline, sometimes you could see more of the body. The scene was so mesmerizing, that I found it impossible to look away. I just couldn’t. You could never get enough of it.
It has always been cocks. Male beauty, but cocks in particular. It’s not always about explicitness; sometimes it’s simply curiosity, a silent intrigue that draws me in. Strangely enough, this curiosity predated my full awareness of my own sexuality.
I don’t remember exactly how old I was, probably around primary school age, when these feelings first began to take root. We had a collection of old newspapers stored in the garage, and I would often spend hours flipping through their pages, driven by simple curiosity. One particular memory stands out: reading a letter from a father, grappling with his son’s decision to come out as gay. I remember thinking at the time, “Wow, I’m so glad I don’t have problems like this.” Little did I realize that, someday, I would be confronting similar questions myself. Thankfully, my family has always been remarkably accepting, and I am grateful for that. Another find in these pages was a reprint or a fragment from Artur Żmijewski’s thought-provoking project, “Eye for an Eye.” Żmijewski had photographed men with missing limbs, yet those missing parts were “recreated” by other men standing together, an act of transformation and resilience expressed with stark honesty. I was very young then, not fully aware of my particular tastes. Oh boy, I didn’t know at that time I’d be into bearded, well built hairy men, but I remember feeling an intense draw toward these images. Their raw, unstyled nudity resonated deeply within me. Polish critical art movement of the ‘90 in its finest. I can still smell the musty, earthy aroma of that garage.
Oh, yes, and the smells. There’s nothing better than an attractive man wearing really good perfume. I wasn’t into perfumes until I discovered some higher end ones, and recently I’ve been dipping into the niche perfume category. Really expensive, but definitely worth the experience. Some smells alone can be dreamlike and put you in an ecstatic realm. Having a sweaty, hot and horny man before you, sprayed with some rich composition makes this almost unbearably ecstatic. Atmosphere becomes combustible.
Male beauty is an evergreen subject for me. I can never seem to get enough of it, whether in photographs, films, or in real life. Ironically, despite this persistent admiration, I’ve rarely explored this subject directly within my own art practice. I tend to focus on abstract concepts and universal human emotions, yet somehow I’ve never touched this subject. Was it because I didn’t want to fall in the category of a clearly queer artist? Or because working with live models makes me anxious? Will I ever get back to making art? Working full time leaves me with no time for the things that I love. So I keep living in these fantasies.