Photography and cinema are inherently voyeuristic: to peer into a person's life without their knowing, to hold a god's-eye view of their existence, for better or worse. That leads to one conclusion — the audience, and by proxy, God, are perverts. There is a pleasure in seeing and not being seen.
Pretty Smut is the acceptance of that truth: that our corporeal desires are stranger, darker, and more untamed than our frontal lobes would like us to believe. The salacious and the dangerous exist only in contrast with the safe and the predictable. This work lives at that intersection — and stares, unflinching.