nastya valentine

a rare sunset shoot, I went to nastya's to capture the dying daylight scattering around her home—until it was time to put on my best indiesleaze, party photographer impersonation and hit her with enough flash to get an epileptic too messed up to sue.

I usually have to dig deep to find the specific date that I photographed people. I remembered this one, 9/14/2025, because after I had left my good time with nastya, I would trek across town to hang with sweet jane.

I'm really so grateful to be surrounded by creatives. the ones I've just recently and luckily have come to known—to people whose bonds become stronger with each passing weekend we have. we're all doing our shit, trying our best. this project is my attempt.

nastya valentine, the woman (and aspiring trad wife) wrote a book called cyberhorny. I'm sure there's a fuller title but it's almost 2am as I'm typing this and I really can't get into it. I learned about the book, and herself from posts promoting her work off exotika magazine—which I only know because of jiselle.

do you know how hard writing is? having to outline that shit, rough draft that shit, make another draft, revise that shit, rework it, another draft, getting opinions from confidants, make another draft...

I don't know the process nastya put herself through but even so, shit's hard. I mostly just bullshit the stuff I write on this blog, like right now. this is straight off the dome. did you see my instagram story from a couple nights ago when I was on my way to the cinnamon concert? I legitimately posted "sometimes when I want to feel something, I imagine the wails of a grieving mother."

what the fuck.

she loves seals. look at the very top of this page. we gathered all the seal plushies at her place to build a little nest of seals. we tried a tower but it would topple quickly, thing was taller than her.

she showed me a red book she had. big as fuck, heavy. I opened it while she was changing into another outfit—pressed flowers between the pages, how cute. in the nook by her desk, where the mirror wall is—full bookshelf adorned with books and cute knick-knacks, lighting provided by heart-shaped ring lights.

inside her room, pokémon plushies. nastya knows cute. indulges in it. god bless her. I told her my first pokémon I ever caught was a shiny taillow in ruby. I also told her the tragedy of losing my platinum which had all my transferred dudes from diamond, leaf green, and ruby in it... I'm still upset about it.

I leave for new york tomorrow. flight is 6am. maybe I'll die. maybe I won't, and then I'll crash at joey's in bushwick. and then I'll get to see taylor and spend the day with her taking photos and visiting all the museum gift shops to bring things home for jane and jess and ashley and quynn and julianne and luna and gianna and my niece and whoever else I'm reminded of who deserves more than a postcard.

this could very well be the last in the series.

not to jinx it of course. I just think about dying all the time. I don't plan on it, no one does though—except the glaringly obvious exceptions but you know what I'm getting at.

shoots like this one I cherish. meeting someone like nastya, having fun taking photos, burying her in plushies—all of it. the fact that the photos came out so fucking good is a plus.