The Karmic Playground
A Journey of Vulnerability, Power, and Transformation
The Karmic Playground is a visual exploration of the raw, unfiltered aspects of human experience — a deep dive into the shadows of sexuality, power dynamics, and identity. This series, born from a profoundly karmic relationship, captures a pivotal moment in my life when I was reckoning with the most shameful and degrading facets of my own sexuality, allowing myself to explore the prostitute archetype and the many polarities within me.
The name The Karmic Playground reflects the battleground of emotions, manipulation, and exploration I found myself in. Through this series, I was not simply playing a role — I was tearing down illusions, breaking through the societal constructs that dictate how we are ‘supposed’ to express ourselves as women. Each photograph documents a part of my journey, from the destructive yet enlightening depths to the powerful realization of my divine feminine, embodied now in the archetype of the Empress.
At the time of these photos 2021, I was deeply exploring my sexual energy, my vulnerabilities, and the complex polarities of masculine and feminine within. From experimenting with pegging — a practice I now view as a tool for deep vulnerability and healing — to confronting distorted representations of femininity, each image tells a story of power dynamics, gender roles, and the stripping away of societal masks.
As I step into my Empress energy today, I feel it is time to showcase not just the final harmonious state, but the complex, often painful process of getting there. People often see the balance and power of the divine feminine and believe it comes easily, yet it’s the deep, shadowed, often shame-filled journey that ultimately births this inner strength. The Karmic Playground is my unapologetic showcase of that journey.
This series is an invitation for viewers to reflect on their own karmic playgrounds — the places in their lives where they confront shame, power, and vulnerability — and to see how these dark spaces can transform into the most profound sources of empowerment.
© Credit Photo : Nicolas Buisson
Archetype I : The prostitute
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Archetype I : The prostitute *
The Pink Prostitute: Confronting Feminine Illusions
Dressed in pink, the color of innocence, the color of softness, the girly color, I stand as both a reflection and a rebellion. This is the pink of a femininity that is not mine, a femininity that has been crafted and packaged for consumption — a mask that hides the truth beneath. I wear it, but it does not define me. It is a false femininity, one designed to be palatable, to be pleasing, to bend to the will of a society obsessed with the submissive, the docile, the easily conquered.
My hands, though seemingly bound, are tied by my own will. This is the silent submission we are conditioned into, the choices we make without even realizing we are choosing. I am bound, but I am also the one holding the rope. It is an unconscious act of compliance, of surrender to the expectations placed upon me as a woman, as a body meant to serve. The paradox of being both the captive and the captor speaks to the internal conflict of what it means to be feminine in a world where femininity is constantly shaped by the male gaze.
In this moment, I wait — mouth open, legs slightly parted — evoking the anticipation of an act both intimate and degrading. The visual language recalls oral sex, but this is not about pleasure. This is about power. This is about submission in the face of a world where the act of penetration dominates. I stand in the role of the prostitute, the vessel, waiting for the man’s ejaculation, as though that is my only purpose, as though that is the natural conclusion to this image.
But it is not. This pose is a confrontation, a direct gaze into the uncomfortable truth of a penis-centered world. A world where everything is constructed around penetration, around the act of entering, of taking, of claiming. It is the woman’s body, the feminine body, that becomes the battleground for this power, reduced to an object to be filled, covered, consumed. I am standing here, in pink, in the uniform of femininity, but there is nothing soft in this moment. This is a battle cry wrapped in lace.
This image cuts deeper than the act it mimics. It exposes the transactional nature of how femininity is viewed — the role of the prostitute not as a profession, but as a metaphor for how women are taught to trade parts of themselves to survive in a society that demands their submission, their sexual availability, their surrender. We are told to wait, to comply, to offer ourselves up in service to male pleasure, and in return, we receive the illusion of power.
But even in this submission, there is power. My hands, though tied, are tied by my own making. It is this complexity that this image invites us to explore. The power dynamics between men and women are not as clear-cut as they appear. There is complicity in the performance of femininity, yes, but there is also resistance. The power to reclaim the role, to turn it on its head, to acknowledge that, even in the most degrading moments, there is choice. There is agency.
This is the distorted pink of a femininity sold to us by a society that is uncomfortable with the full expression of female power. A femininity that must be submissive, that must be tied down, that must wait to be claimed. But within this distortion lies the truth: the realization that the very act of submission, when chosen, can be a form of defiance.
Archetype II : The fasle geisha, the distorted maiden
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Archetype II : The fasle geisha, the distorted maiden *
The False Geisha: The Distortion of Art into Submission
Standing in the robe, barely covering my body, I embody the false geisha — a reflection of how history, culture, and perception have transformed a once revered archetype into something distorted and misunderstood. The geisha, a living work of art, an embodiment of creativity, grace, and depth, has been reduced to a symbol of sexual submission, stripped of her multidimensional power.
In this image, the geisha is re-imagined not as the complex, intellectual artist she once was, but as a vessel, a submissive figure designed to serve the pleasure of others. Here, I confront that falsehood, embodying the way women are so often reduced to their sexuality, their bodies — their worth determined not by the fullness of their being but by what they can offer to the male gaze.
The robe, once a symbol of elegance and artistry, hangs loosely, barely concealing, as though I am expected to remove it, to reveal myself entirely. This is the modern illusion of the geisha — no longer a woman revered for her intellect, her performance, her artistry, but a woman whose body is the only canvas deemed worthy of attention. It is submission, not art, that the false geisha is meant to convey.
But beneath this veneer of submission, there is something much more profound: a rebellion. The gaze I hold is direct, unwavering, questioning. I am not performing for the viewer, not playing into the role of seduction. Instead, I am exposing the lie, the way in which women’s complexity is erased, their creative power dismissed, their identities flattened into mere objects of desire.
Historically, the geisha was an artist, a master of performance, conversation, and the delicate interplay of culture and intellect. But post-World War II, the image of the geisha became depraved, associated more with prostitution than with the multidimensional beings they once were. This image challenges that reduction, revealing the emptiness in the distortion.
In this pose, I am both the geisha and the anti-geisha. I wear the robe, but I am not cloaked in submission. I reveal my body, but not for your pleasure. I stand here, confronting the viewer with the weight of this transformation — the way femininity, creativity, and depth are so often reduced to a singular narrative of sexuality.
This is a reclamation of the geisha, a reminder that submission is not her true nature. Her true power lies in her art, her complexity, her ability to be more than the narrow definitions placed upon her.
Archetype III : Le Dompteur: The One Who Wants to Be Tamed
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Archetype III : Le Dompteur: The One Who Wants to Be Tamed *
Archetype III : Le Dompteur: The One Who Wants to Be Tamed
In these images, I stand as le dompteur, a complex embodiment of power and surrender. Wearing the masculine jacket, oversized and heavy, it becomes a metaphor for the duality of control and vulnerability that resides within. The jacket — a symbol of authority, structure, and power — drapes over my body, as though I am both wearing it and being worn by it, wrestling with its weight. It’s not just a garment; it is the armor of the one who tames, and yet it is also the burden of the one who seeks to be tamed.
In this role, I step into the part of myself that desires control, that wants to dominate the chaos, the wildness inside. But beneath the surface, there’s a deeper truth — the recognition of my own desire to be tamed, to surrender to something greater, to find peace in the hands of another who can hold my wildness without fear. This tension between the tamer and the one who longs to be tamed plays out in every inch of my body, every fold of the jacket, every clench of my hands.
My gaze is steady, almost defiant, but there is a vulnerability in that defiance — a silent plea to be understood, to be met with the same intensity I offer. The boots ground me, sturdy and strong, as though they are anchoring me in the face of this internal conflict. The netted bodysuit peeking out from beneath the jacket adds to the rawness, exposing the delicate balance between protection and exposure, strength and fragility.
These images confront the paradox of power: how the act of taming requires as much surrender as it does control. To tame an animal, one must first understand it, connect with its wildness, and in doing so, the tamer often finds that they, too, must let go of their own need for control. It is a dance between two forces, neither entirely dominant nor submissive, but in constant negotiation.
As le dompteur, I am not just the one in control — I am the one who understands the necessity of release, the need to be tamed. This is not about domination in the traditional sense; it’s about the delicate art of balance, of learning to wield power without losing oneself to it, and of embracing vulnerability as a form of strength.
Archetype IV : The rebel, the boundary breaker
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Archetype IV : The rebel, the boundary breaker *
Confronting Addiction and the Politics of Gender Fluidity
Wearing the iconic red Coca-Cola t-shirt, I see more than a pop culture reference — it’s a layered critique, both societal and deeply personal. On the surface, the shirt calls out Coca-Cola's role as a global purveyor of sugar, a substance that mirrors global addiction in its own right. Feeding into cycles of craving and dependency. It also serves as a deeper metaphor, a parallel to the societal addictions that weaken us: the quick fixes, the surface-level validations, and the culture that trades resilience for fragility. For me, it holds a sharper edge, a raw reminder of my own battle with addiction — the cocaine that carved deep scars into my life and ultimately contributed to the breakdown of my marriage.
As I cast my gaze downward, I confront the duality of addiction: the pull it has on society at large and the intimate destruction it brings to individuals. The shirt becomes a symbol of consumption — of the global systems that thrive on our cravings and the personal patterns we fall into when we lose ourselves to desire. And then, the image shifts. Beneath the bold red fabric is a pegging harness, complete with a phallic attachment. This isn’t just an exploration of sexual dynamics; it’s a powerful commentary on gender roles and the rigid definitions society continues to impose.
Pegging, in this context, embodies the fantasy — and perhaps the frustration — of crossing into the territory of the “other.” It represents the yearning to embody the strength and power associated with masculinity while simultaneously dismantling the shame tied to femininity. It’s not just about “having a dick” — it’s about stepping into roles society has deemed off-limits, both for myself and others. This image forces me to confront questions of gender identity and fluidity in a world obsessed with labels and categories. I can’t help but wonder: what if we could break down the shame surrounding these explorations? What if women could wear a phallic symbol without judgment, and men could embrace feminine traits without fear?
The "woke" culture that dominates this conversation often demands compliance over curiosity, rejecting divergent views as attacks rather than opportunities for dialogue. This fragility, cultivated under the guise of progress, strips us of the strength to engage with discomfort. Instead of embracing the full spectrum of human experience — our vulnerabilities, contradictions, and the interplay of masculine and feminine energies — we are taught to cling to fixed identities that must be defended at all costs.
Is our growing dependency on surgery and labels a reflection of liberation, or does it mask a deeper unwillingness to confront inner struggles? Could we allow ourselves the freedom to experiment, to play, and to embody all aspects of ourselves?
In this image, the pegging harness becomes a metaphor for vulnerability, a reminder that power lies not in rigid definitions but in fluidity and mutual understanding. For me, pegging is more than an act; it’s a tool for empathy. It reverses roles and dismantles power dynamics. It forces women like me to understand the complexities of penetration and allows men to experience the vulnerability of being penetrated. This shift in perspective is transformative — it opens a door to understanding, challenging the societal structures that too often limit and define us. This image is an invitation, both for myself and others, to rethink identity. It’s a provocation to explore the fluidity of gender, the nuances of vulnerability, and the ways we can dismantle the systems that restrict our potential. By embracing this exploration, perhaps we can begin to heal some of the most profound divides in ourselves and in our world.
This kind of exploration demands courage — the courage to face ourselves, our fears, and the uncomfortable truths that arise in true self-exploration.Have we lost touch with the ability to navigate the complexities of our inner lives, to challenge ourselves to grow through discomfort rather than avoid it? This image is not a rejection of transformation but a call to reconsider its depth and purpose. What if we embraced the discomfort of growth, the fluidity of roles, and the interplay of our energies, instead of seeking external fixes to internal wounds?
In this act of confrontation, I find strength — not in conforming to a culture of fragility, but in breaking free from it.