“As a divinity always ‘associated with the tragic dimension of human existence,’ she sees in Sekhmet’s face ‘the look of someone who sees the irreducible tragedy of life which she can do nothing to avert and which, indeed, she knows she herself has helped bring about – but who does not hide from the pain.'” —Richard Stromer
“Have sex with a writer because she chooses art over money, even if she’s always complaining about being broke. Unclasp her bra because she’s 31 and still living with three roommates, squeaking by on rent, sliding by on bills, bartending a few nights, working in a bookstore, doing odd jobs, hustling; all because she’s convinced that she will create something masterful that may one day make all of this worth it. Pull off her jeans because you admire the sacrifices she makes to do what she loves, knowing you could never do the same. Fuck a writer because she shivers and starves for her chance to carve her name on the world.” —broke-ass stuart
Rebecca Tillett is the talented mind and eye we hosted in the very first issue of Fluffer Magazine. Her brilliant career started by being selected by Taschen for the first volume in their The New Erotic Photography series. We decided it was time to listen to her very own voice.
I don’t deserve this, any of it. This peace and happiness and elation. I really don’t.
But I’m going to accept it knowing it won’t be forever and make peace with that.
…because nothing is forever.
—Not pain or sadness or hurt or happiness or joy. It all inevitably ends at some point, doesn’t it?
I was born into autumn and spent the first fifteen years of my life there. I spent the subsequent 16 in winter but I have now entered a Spring in my life. It’s the first time I can say confidently that I’m happy without subtext. I never realized before now, how powerful that is. Even more powerful is the knowledge that I acquired this happiness through my own doing; I, alone, took the ridiculously painful and challenging steps to get here, not even really knowing where I was going. I only knew I was hungering for something I’d never before tasted and I let my faith in the promises of the unfamiliar guide me. I put all conviction in nothing more than possibility and life rewarded me accordingly. I feel unbelievably lucky and brave for the bold moves I’ve recently made in my life and while I know I’m not guaranteed a summer or even a terribly long Spring, I now know that I have the strength necessary to seek them out before so easily acquiescing to a seemingly never-ending and brutal winter.
Last night, I watched Animal, one of the most powerful, beautiful, provocative, and disturbing pieces of performance art I think I’ve ever seen. The artist happens to be my cousin, Cassie (aka Mama Cass), who’s modeled for many of my photographs. She’s spent years pushing the boundaries in her work but this piece is truly in a league of its own. Using a distressing recent family event as inspiration, she displays a tenacious fortitude in this that I’ve not seen in her previous work and can hardly recall seeing anywhere else, actually. This is pure guts, raw and dripping with overwhelming emotion. I am extremely proud of her, not only for the outstanding execution but for the sheer and utter fearlessness exuding from this short video. You rarely see such bravery.
I’m not a prude by any means. You don’t have to know me long or well to know that about me. I love fine art nudity, sloppy and amateur porn, the many crazy kinks and fetishes that abound, sex, sex, and more sex. I love exercised dominance on both sides of the gender field and so long as animals or children aren’t involved, I can appreciate any and all preferences, no matter how strange, in the bedroom. I especially love that women are beginning to feel less ashamed and more empowered in this realm and that we’re slowly moving into a world where it’s just as acceptable for a woman to embrace her sexuality as men have been doing without consequence for eons.
I was sixteen and my father had put a bullet in his head, in the dead of night, in the home that he and I shared with my mother, equally melancholy but impenetrable, like petrified wood. My river would diminish to almost nothing at this point, slowly trickling through the ragged terrain threatening to surrender to the ceaseless drought before ebbing and vanishing entirely. And it did, although the gash my river had carved in the land remained quietly and patiently, for the water to return and the seeds of the surrounding vegetation slept knowingly, of the wisdom and spirituality I would eventually begin to perceive in my life.
For years, torrential rains would eventually quench my land’s thirst for water and a trickle would turn into a stream, and the stream would again gain enough water and momentum to be my guiding river once again, and yet, it was a beautiful piece of my landscape I often took for granted. I knew it was there, but I stopped sitting on the banks, peering into the simulated glass at the river rocks sleeping softly and inconspicuously below.
You know where to find your happiness. It’s in your heart. Follow it. Fear and logic may lead you down the path of least resistance because it’s easier and far less terrifying, but you’ll never be able to silence the aching whine emanating from your chest. Listen to it.