Selfportraits on film with (Patreon)

Dari and Lolita

This wasn’t even supposed to be a shoot) We had just finished photographing Dari. There were still a few frames left on the roll of film, so someone casually said, “Should we all jump in for a few photos?” Of course we said yes. That was it - no planning, no concept. Just the last few frames on an almost finished roll of XP2 , shot on my Olympus MJU-II.

Looking at these photographs now, I realized I’d forgotten what this feeling was like. Not being around women..... Hm how explaied that ?... I mean I’ve photographed lots of women. I’ve made portraits with Lolita. With Makivka. I’ve photographed two women together before. But somehow I’d almost never found myself in front of the camera with two other women at the same time.

And there was something about it that felt… I don’t know. Like sisterhood. I keep trying to find a better word, but I can’t.

There’s something incredibly comforting about being completely vulnerable around other women who are just as vulnerable. Especially when you’re all naked. Not because of the nudity itself. But because after about five minutes you completely forget about it. You’re just talking. Laughing. Moving around. And suddenly your body isn’t something you’re thinking about anymore. You’re simply there. Together.

Looking at these photographs now, I realize I miss this feeling. I wish I photographed women like this more often. Without trying to make the perfect image. Without trying to make the perfect pose. Just letting people exist together for a little while.

And maybe what I miss even more is something I didn’t fully understand until later. The feeling of being surrounded only by women. I don’t mean it in an “us versus them” kind of way. I’ve never really seen other women as competition. I was lucky enough not to grow up with that idea. But I do think that the simple presence of men—no matter how kind, respectful or wonderful they are—quietly changes the way many women move through the world. Almost without realizing it, you become a little more aware of yourself - how you’re sitting, speaking, what you’re wearing, whether you’re taking up too much space. It’s such a subtle feeling that most of the time you don’t even notice it’s there. Until it suddenly isn’t.

And then you find yourself in a room with only women. Everyone is equally vulnerable. Equally imperfect. Equally human. And that quiet background noise disappears. It feels strangely familiar. Almost maternal. Like being held rather than observed. Like being surrounded by people who instinctively understand something you don’t even have to explain. It’s peaceful. It’s soft. It’s home in a way that’s very difficult for me to put into words.

Maybe that’s what I see when I look at these photographs. Not three models. Not three naked women. Just three people who felt completely safe to simply exist together for fifteen minutes.