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A few months after the accidental discovery in that first hotel room, I found myself actively seeking spaces to perform. The frosted glass had become my collaborator, my stage, my protection and revelation all at once. I was no longer stumbling into these moments—I was hunting for them.

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Palm Springs, February 16th. Another hotel room, another frosted barrier, but this time I came prepared. The desert light filtering through the glass created different shadows, different possibilities. I had learned to read these translucent surfaces like a photographer reads natural light, understanding how my body would translate through the medium.

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This evolution marked a shift from accidental vulnerability to intentional exploration. I was seeking out these liminal spaces—hotel rooms where privacy and performance intersect, where temporary inhabitation allows for temporary transformation. The anonymity of these places gave me permission to experiment with visibility in ways my everyday life couldn't contain.

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The frosted glass continued to offer the same negotiations between concealment and display, but now I approached them with growing confidence. Each pose became more deliberate, each gesture a conscious choice rather than shy experimentation. I was learning the language of my own body filtered through glass, discovering how curves and angles could create abstract forms that transcended the shame I carried.

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In these Palm Springs images, there's a freedom that wasn't present in the earlier work—a sense of play and purposeful exploration. I was no longer just confronting my body; I was celebrating what it could do, how it could move, how it could create beauty even when filtered through barriers. The performance was becoming as important as the documentation.

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This marked the beginning of understanding my practice as a form of embodied research—using hotel rooms across the country as temporary laboratories for investigating visibility, vulnerability, and the radical act of taking up space behind frosted glass.