I learnt about 'altered books' and 'blackout poetry' from Austin Kleon and was inspired to make this. All words are Anais Nin's, except for Henry Miller's 'sopping wet petals'. None of the photographs are mine. Drawings are reproduced from photos I like, a couple of which by Sarah Moon.
Because the texts are small, below is the finished blackout 'story':
'He needed an innocent body deeply sunk in voluptuous black satin. It was a deep hunger for her ridden response, an invitation to steal off with her extraordinary hands, an irritation undulating under the very depths of his breathing. She was the strangest woman. Uneasy, alluding, nebulous, very, very, very. He would be happy to sober on her coloured hide-and-seek, to shiver within the dark softness of every muscle, opening, closing, the most marvelous intensity.
Slowly engaged she was, and against curiosities-driven confusion, languid and stirred. Softly, surreptitiously, sopping wet petals awaited.'
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