Mariel's Bold and Beautiful Boudoir Session
On an unseasonably beautiful August day I met Mariel at her family's home. She greeted me at the front door with excitement and led me to a full buffet of food in the kitchen.
"There's only one rule here....", she said. "Make yourself at home."
I loved that. A simple phrase but immediately welcoming. And as I scarfed down a few sandwiches we spent the next few moments discussing how an aioli makes any sandwich better. True.
Mariel was fit. The kind of fit that makes you wonder if she sleeps in a gym, waking up every hour for a different circuit workout. She came to me because she needed something, maybe a little love for the skin she’s spent hours carving.
Her family’s home? A museum of sorts, full of art. Full of life. This was a photographer's dream. Plush chairs, big windows, green grass. The perfect stage. And Mariel? She was shaking. Not her body — no, that was solid. But you could see the nerves underneath, like a caged animal trying to break free.
I told her to relax. I told her, "Don’t worry about the poses. I’ll guide you. Just be yourself." So, we shot. Lingerie that screamed confidence and a Denver Broncos jersey that her boyfriend would love seeing her in. Then we moved to the pool, the sunlight starting to die off, leaving a haze of heat in the air.
The shots on my Pentax 67, they were something else. Black and white, color, it didn’t matter. There was something about that soft, seductive smile she wore the whole time, like she was finally understanding what I already knew: she was enough. She didn’t need to flex or pose for it. She was beautiful, without apology. She was beautiful without even trying.
When she saw the unretouched images, she stopped. She was shocked, said they were amazing. No Photoshop magic, just a woman owning her body. That’s what boudoir should be. Real. Unfiltered. And that’s what we captured.
It’s not just about taking photos. It’s about letting someone see themselves, fully, without shame. That’s what I hope people understand after they step in front of my lens. Self-love isn’t some fluffy phrase. It’s work. It’s about stripping down the nonsense and seeing what’s been there all along.
