Lana Kan Kinbaku

Category: outdoors

  • The Edge

    Our weekend trip to Mallorca was full of hope but beleaguered with issues. We were there to celebrate our friends’ wedding (which coincided with our first anniversary together!); but had a rough start after airport strikes and a subsequent overnight ferry trip.

    We had little opportunity but we were both so eager to tie. Kinbaku has become a central part of how we communicate our deepest and truest selves to one another. Where we are vulnerable, intimate and deeply connected.

    On the last day we checked out of the hotel and drove. I knew a spot by the lighthouse, away far from the road, with magnificent views.

    We parked and set out walking, past the lighthouse, over a fence, and into the rocky brush.

    I led her to the cliffs edge.

    We sat down to take in the harsh cliffs and the enormity of the sea. It was humbling.

    We are sitting on the edge of the world.

    My heart is beating faster. Equal parts thrill and arousal. Once I am satisfied she is seated as safely as possible, we begin.

    I savour every second, every heavy breath, pushing my hands and ropes onto her body. enjoying. taking. exploring.

    We´ve been exploring photography as a play medium, using the camera as a tool to play with her and to expose her. This is the impetus behind this blog actually: to explore and share my photography journey in a more meaningful way than a 4 word post to fetlife or instagram.

    I take my camera and distance myself from her. A lot.

    Enough to make her heart race a little faster.

    I stalk her.

    I moved behind bushes, slowly zig zagging my way closer and closer to her.

    Her eyes track me constantly, refusing to lose sight of me.

    So beautiful.

    So alone.

    The tension grows as I come closer and closer to her.

    I sit behind her, grabbing her into my arms.

    The climax.

    Both so happy to be alive together, sitting on the edge of the world.

  • An Odyssey

    All week we had been searching for locations, but we were hindered by my tired shoulder, and the ever-present heat.

    On a drive I spotted a ruin set along the cliffside, above a little beachy cove. The little olive grove attached ran up the sharp angle of the cliff. Close to the road, yet private and invisible from below. This was our spot.

    When tying in nature you must adapt. There is no bamboo, no well-worn tatamis or cushions to sit on. The steep slope, irregular rocky ground and thorny vegetation challenge us both. There can be no “planned shape” or “position” or “inspirational photo” that I am trying to recreate – what happens is a direct result of the landscape around us, and the moment we are in.

    She stands while I tie her. (She misses being in seiza).

    When I attach the tsuri, she lets out a small sigh. (She is enjoying the feeling).

    I lift her legs onto my knee, and begin to put the rope around her waist, and under her ass. The position is stressful, the entire tie becoming a predicament for her. (I am enjoying the feeling).

    She is sweating. (We are sweating).

    Her dress wet with sweat rips as I try to pull it free.

    The heat bears down, and tires her faster. (We tire faster)

    A drop of sweat rolls off her face.

    She gives me her all.

    All her energy.

    All her sweat and fluids.

    All the air in her lungs.

    Her legs stretch out, in an attempt to make space for more air, but she suffers for it.

    Her toes curl. (Feet are not happy).

    “Look at me”. She give me her gaze. (It costs her more air).

    This island connects me to my ancestors. The slowness of the land and the heat of the sun. The olives and figs and salty water, the blood that runs in my veins. Now she feels it. Now she shares it too.

    We are both tired. (We are both proud).