Lately, I’ve been drawn to the quiet restraint of ikebana—the intention, the asymmetry, the tension between chaos and control. I keep returning to a small, strange moment in a Bosch painting: a flower, placed tenderly and absurdly in someone’s backside. It made me smile, then it made me ache. I want to bring that image to life—not as a joke, but as an intimate act of power and design. The idea of placing something so delicate in a place so vulnerable, simply because I can, is its own form of art.

You'll be prepared slowly, your body cleaned and positioned with intention. The space may be serene or stark depending on my mood, but the focus will be precise. I will stretch you gently, then more firmly, to ensure the arrangement fits. Once in place, you’ll hold it—still, silent, and useful—as I observe, adjust, and admire the contrast between your submission and the bloom. Any additional sensations or adjustments will depend entirely on where my vision takes me.

When it’s over, you may feel emptied, disoriented, or deeply calm. For a time, you ceased to be a person and became a vessel—forgotten, necessary, and entirely mine. I’ll remember the way your body held shape beneath the arrangement, the tension of your restraint, and whether or not you complemented the composition.