This is my studio for exploring my work. Consider these drafts.

Since that first time

I hadn't been back to her place since the first time we met, now some four years ago. I've never felt far, though. She's the kind of person that holds you in her orbit and you trust that the magic of Newtonian physics will bring you back together at the right time.

So I wrote her a letter and she read it and it was as if not a moment had passed.

by Balthazar

The flower hour

See more of this beauty in and out of her florals with a dirty photo subscription... 

Peek in the Mail - Dirty Photo Subscription

What you get:

  • 2 beautiful 5" x 7" signed archival quality prints per month, curated just for you and what you like to see.
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by Balthazar

It's about listening

A camera is a way for me to listen. It's me being attentive. It's me forgetting myself. 

Bless you, you lovely people who share yourselves with me. I hope I've heard you well.

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by Balthazar

I think you'll believe, too

She requested a letter from me some years back, but it's I who have been the recipient of so many beautiful things from her. I had a sense of her magnanimous heart and magnificent proportions, but all my senses were quite undone when she visited Brooklyn and I was able to be in her presence.

Only the photos help me to believe that what I saw is even possible. I think you'll believe, too.

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by Balthazar

A Rainbow in Curved Air

We made plans on the telephone. With actual spoken words and purrs and laughs that were cute choppy squeals through the wires. Long bits of silence, but instead of staring at a screen or waiting for a bubble, there was breath. We lived in different cities, and in between our encounters, I went to the music library at school to check out CDs from all the musicians you talked about, but for whatever reason I could never take them out of the library. I had to listen to them in a little booth with giant headphones and did so every night for a week. Emptying myself so Anthony Braxton could fill me up with you. So Laura Nyro could draw me a map of where you have been. I'd sit in the audio lab basement every night for my crash course in you. Then crunch through the leaves back to my pad, praying to the great gods of Cool for a light on the machine.

Text by SM Simões

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by Balthazar


You're no match for her. You should know that upfront. 

You can see one of her (many) projects here.

I saw James Tate and Gombrowicz on her shelves and I knew that she wasn't messing around.

by Balthazar

Some instant feelings

While two of my primary Polaroid cameras are broken (and another is temperamental if not downright grumpy) and I've not been able to take any Polaroids in the last month or so, they still hold my heart. Here are some that I've taken in recent months that I've been a bit neglectful about sharing. Enjoy, friends.

P.S. Don't forget that you can get a polaroid and letter of your very own

by Balthazar

Even the tiles had to agree

Her curves were more convincing than their 

| straight |

| lines |

And when she

(bent over)

I heard them gasp and whisper,

"Show us your way."
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by Balthazar

I wanted to know all her secrets

Just whisper them to me while I take a nap in your hair.
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by Balthazar

Big, beautiful, beatific laugh

A dream sequence

Afterwards you slid on a old slip and some cowboy boots and walked me to my car. There was a wide expanse of parking lot between you and everything that came after you. I took a 250 mile detour to get here, but I didn’t tell you that. Anyway, it didn’t really matter because I didn’t have anywhere to be, and I did tell you that. You squeezed my arm asked if I still had that little orange blimp that I flew around during the street fairs I worked. “Clemente? Yeah, but I gotta take her in get her fixed.” You asked me to wait and ran back to your pad. The sun was coming up behind the Denny’s, and I felt free that you were still so warm and wild and beautiful. You remembered the best parts of everything, and I felt good that I knew that.

Your boots clicking was the only sound in the neighborhood as you ran up, kissed me and shoved some bills in my pocket, “for Clemente.” I’m touched and pull you to me tightly. There’s always a part of me that wonders if any particularly generous moment is the time for a grand gesture. A sign to cool my jets and live in the softness. But, there, I never wanted to see your face in anything but that big, beatific laugh that made me feel so amazing. So I keep saying goodbye.
— Text by S.M. Simões
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by Balthazar