Being and doing have always been in an eternal battle in religion, philosophy and the arts, as if they were radically different or opposing entities. The paradox is, however, that in their ultimate expression, they become one. This push and pull between two supposedly different poles has been a main fascination for me in the world of sadomasochism. It is probably what I value most in my voyage through life. While doing is often thought of as a kind of negation of being, doing is the more here and now, as I can’t redo the past or pre-do the future, the way I can in my head. In sadomasochistic play, I often start in the doing, the making of knots and shaping of bodies, but eventually the doing transforms into a relational being with my partner, with a deviant desire, with a period in space and time. It’s as if the doing draws me seductively into being. Their merging is for me a kind of ecstasy.
On one hand restraining my submissive’s hands is about gently twisting and placing the wrists into the right position just above the buttocks at her lower back. Yet it is also about experiencing the fragile inside skin of wrists scented with CHANEL, reflecting the parfumeur’s elegant choice of musky cedar wood and the seductive innocence of spring flowers, which vibrates the air and evaporating the space between us. It’s as if the tying, and all my doing, led me down the path into being.