On June 21, 2025, I walked into the studio space of Finest Courtier in Boston, Massachusetts. The event was hosted by After Dark Artist, and it was an honor to be asked to present. The air in the room carried the mix of anticipation and curiosity I’ve come to recognize before a scene, only this time it wasn’t a rope scene in the traditional sense. It was a workshop, and I would be bringing the audience into my world as both a Shibari practitioner and a photographer. The attendees stood in a loose semicircle around a simple setup: a backdrop, constant lighting, a coil of rope, and enough space for movement. Cameras hung from shoulders, notebooks rested in hands, and eyes followed every detail of the space. They hadn’t come just to create images, they’d come to understand the process behind them. I wanted this to be a conversation, one that would unfold in the same rhythm as my work: deliberate, intentional, and grounded in presence.

I began by giving the group some background. How I came to Shibari, how photography found its way into that practice, and how the two have shaped one another over time. I spoke about starting as someone who tied for the experience alone, never imagining that I would one day be known for photographing rope. Over the years, the camera became less a separate tool and more an extension of the scene itself, a way of holding on to what would otherwise disappear. From there, I moved into the heart of the lecture: lighting, composition, and the choices that give a rope image its weight. I explained why I work almost exclusively with constant lighting. The rope should never be paused for the sake of the camera, and constant light keeps me free to focus on the person, not the dials. We discussed composition not in terms of typical rules, but in terms of what serves the story: how the smallest detail, a rope mark or the bend of a wrist, can carry the emotional truth of the moment. I also spoke about why I often photograph models nude. It’s not for provocation, it’s about creating the conditions where moments of real vulnerability can appear unguarded, unposed, and unedited by the masks we tend to wear. By the time the lecture ended, the group understood that every choice I make with rope or camera comes from the same place: respect for the person, the moment, and the trust that makes it possible.

When the lecture ended, I shifted the room toward the next part of the day; the live demonstration. The setup was ready, with the backdrop and lighting in place and the rope coiled within easy reach. I had been in communication with both of my models for several weeks beforehand so they knew exactly what to expect. That preparation wasn’t just logistical, it was building trust long before the first knot was tied, making it possible for them to be fully present in front of both me and the audience.

I introduced the models, letting the group watch the quiet exchange between us before we began. This wasn’t simply a setup for photographs; it was an invitation to witness the full arc of a scene take shape. I explained that in a public demonstration, maintaining the model’s headspace is as important as in a private tie. The rope isn’t adjusted for the camera; the camera adjusts for the rope. Every decision; where I stood, how I moved, when I stepped in close, was made to preserve that flow of connection between us. The attendees were watching more than technique. They were seeing how the tie and the photograph could exist together without one disrupting the other.

This was the first of two parts in the live demonstration, a slower, more deliberate session of a series of ties alternating models meant to show the intimacy and focus of my process. The sequence of the ties also mirrored the order in which I learned them, reinforcing that I was sharing my journey as much as I was sharing my knowledge.

For the second part, both models stepped into the scene together, bringing a new dynamic into the room. One was placed in a suspension while the other remained grounded, their bodies positioned in a way that allowed them to connect visually and physically. It was a curated scene designed for the interplay of energy between them; the quiet stillness of one contrasted with the lifted tension of the other. In photographing them together, I wanted to show how rope can hold two different experiences at once, each complete on its own, yet amplified by the presence of the other.

By the time both parts of the live demonstration had ended, the room felt different. I explained that when I photograph rope, I’m not looking for clean lines or dramatic tension. I’m looking for the moments in between; the pause before the pull, the shift of breath, the subtle change in expression when something inside the model moves. These are the frames that live longer than the scene itself, the ones that hold vulnerability, surrender, and truth in ways words can’t. That’s why, whether I’m tying or shooting, the work always comes back to trust. Without it, the rope is just rope, and the photograph is just a picture. With it, both become something more. A record of presence, and a reminder of what can happen when two people step fully into the same moment.

Being invited to present by After Dark Artist was more than a professional opportunity, it was a chance to bring two deeply connected parts of my life into the same space and let others see how they inform one another. Rope shapes the scene; photography remembers it. And somewhere in the space between the first knot and the last frame, something happens that belongs to neither alone. It’s that space I return to again and again, and it’s a reminder that when we work with care, the moment doesn’t end when the rope comes off or the shutter clicks. It keeps living, in body, in image, and in memory.

AFTER DARK ARTIST WORKSHOP

JUNE 2025

BOSTON, MA

Images by Come Closer Photography