I Don’t Get Turned On by My Erotic Art, and That’s Why You Do

Desire belongs to the viewer, not the creator

I have a confession to make—one that surprises people:

I don’t get turned on by my own art.

Not the erotic illustrations. Not the sensual positions. Not even the explicit ones where the bodies collide in impossible angles and abandon.

People assume that because I draw sex, I must be sitting around in this constant state of arousal. Like I’m painting with one hand…

But here’s the truth:

My art doesn’t arouse me.

It arouses you.

And that difference says everything about erotic art, desire, and why we’re drawn to fantasy in the first place.

When I create erotic art, I’m working. When you look, you’re feeling.

Let me explain it this way.

When I’m drawing a couple in a position that looks like the climax of a story or the beginning of something dangerous, I’m not thinking, “Oh God, I want this.”

I’m thinking composition. Lighting. Balance. Contrast.

How one curve moves into another.

I’m solving the architecture of desire—not falling into it.

When you spend hours with a piece, studying every line and detail, it changes the part of your brain that turns on. The erotic becomes a craft. Like a chef who isn’t hungry when they cook, but everyone else smells dinner and practically moans.

Erotic art works because the roles are not the same:

I build the fantasy.

You get to enter it.

Arousal isn’t my job. Creating the doorway is.

Porn tells you what to feel.

Erotic art asks you what you want to feel.

Porn gives you resolution.

Erotic art gives you possibility.

And every time I hear someone say they got turned on by my art (people tell me that all the time), that’s when I feel the real satisfaction.

Not because I’m flattered. (Well, maybe a little.) But because it confirms the art did what I intended: it activated your imagination, your longing, your memory, and your hunger.

My desire lives in the creation. Your desire lives in the viewing.

The erotic isn’t in the image. It’s in your mind.

Let me tell you something I’ve learned after years of creating erotic works:

What turns you on isn’t what you see.

It’s what you think while you see it.

That’s why someone can stare at a nude painting in a museum and feel nothing, while another person can glimpse the suggestion of neck and collarbone and feel a spark through their entire body.

Arousal is personal. It’s psychological. It’s storytelling.

That’s why people who buy my work often say, “It’s what it made me feel.”

We’re surrounded by free porn everywhere, and yet people still crave erotic art. They pay for it. They display it. They hide it. They keep it in their drawer. They protect it from their kids or their mother-in-law.

Why?

Because erotic art gives you something porn can’t:

a fantasy you get to finish yourself.

I’ve seen what happens when someone sees the right image.

I’ve watched people stare at my work and get quiet.

It’s like something wakes up in them. Not some animalistic “fuck me now” response but something deeper.

A recognition. A memory. A desire they didn’t have words for.

Sometimes they blush. Sometimes they laugh a little. Sometimes they whisper to their partner. Sometimes they go silent in a way that tells me the art has started a conversation inside them.

The art doesn’t give them the climax. It gives them the ignition.

Creators and consumers live in different worlds.

When I create art, I don’t experience it like you do.

I know the ending. I know the structure. I know every layer, every edit, every brush. I know where the illusion is hidden.

But you?

You get to see the finished world with fresh eyes, curiosity, anticipation, and the entire mystery untouched.

I don’t get turned on by it because I already know the trick. You get turned on because it’s still magic to you.

We don’t get aroused by our own fantasy. We get aroused by the ones we don’t control.

There’s a reason you don’t tickle yourself. There’s no surprise.

Desire is rooted in mystery, tension, and risk. The moment something isn’t fully yours yet. The moment right before you know what will happen.

That’s exactly where erotic art lives.

It doesn’t hand you the answer—it hands you the invitation.

I don’t need to feel sexually aroused by my art for it to work.

That’s not the job of the creator.

The job of the creator is to spark something alive in someone else.

And here’s the part that surprises my collectors:

I don’t want my art to turn me on. That would make it about me.

I want it to turn you on. I want it to make you think of that first time, that partner, that moment you didn’t act on, that forbidden thing you still want.

Art is a mirror.

I don’t draw my fantasies.

I draw the doorway to yours.

And if you want a piece of that fantasy on your nightstand, your bookshelf, or your own secret drawer, I created something just for that space.

It’s called The Secret Drawer, a limited-edition erotic art card set designed exactly for the person who wants art they can feel.

View the cards here >>

if you dare to open your own drawer.