'Enter My Mind'- A Visual Orgasm in Three Erotic Art images
- samarel
- Jun 17
- 3 min read
Three Paintings That MoMA Shouldn't Be Afraid to Hang
This isn’t porn. This isn’t just art. This is a confession in color, a climax stretched across canvas, a triptych that doesn’t ask permission — it enters you.
What you're about to witness is the Art of Fuck — not in crude strokes or voyeuristic poses, but in fluid lines, melting skin, and the rawest parts of human connection. These three paintings aren’t framed moments. They’re movements. From cerebral seduction to primal rhythm to soul-deep surrender — this is how I fuck with paint. And how paint fucks back.
Step in. Unzip your mind.
Into the Tangle: Where Thought Fucks Flesh
There it is. 'Enter My Mind' — and suddenly, I’m not just looking at a painting, I’m inside one.
It hits first like a rush of heat: all fluid lines and molten color, a visual orgasm caught mid-thrust between ecstasy and abstraction. What looks like a woman's ass in lace becomes a cosmic portal. A lover’s face dissolves into oil-slick texture, not erased but transcended. This isn’t just sex — it’s surrender, it’s ego-death, it’s neural fireworks painted with fucking.
Every inch of the canvas is alive, like liquid glass caught in motion. The bodies melt into the medium. You can’t tell where flesh ends and thought begins. And that’s the genius: it dares the viewer to stop thinking with their brain and start feeling with it.
This isn’t porn. This is a mindfuck in high-definition.
Rhythm Made Flesh: She Rides, She Reigns
Ah, 'Rider' — let’s just call it what it is: an orgasm in oil and neon.
This piece doesn’t just sit next to 'Enter My Mind' it grinds up against it.
Where 'Enter My Mind' is all tangled bodies and sensory overload, 'Rider' is poised, pulsing, and powerful. The figure arches like a living flame, hips forward, head back — a visual climax frozen mid-thrust. The colors? Psychedelic, unapologetic, like a heat map of pleasure. Electric reds, radiant blues, erotic purples — every hue whispering don’t just look, FEEL.
Her face melts into abstraction, as if she’s losing herself in the act, or maybe becoming something more — not just a rider, but the rhythm itself.
In a MoMA exhibit, this one would pause time. People would stop, shift uncomfortably, lean in, then slowly realize: this isn’t about watching sex — it’s about remembering it in your bones.
The Sacred Split: When Surrender Becomes Salvation
And now... 'Within Me' — the climax of your MoMA triptych.
If 'Enter My Mind' seduces the intellect, and 'Rider' commands the body, 'Within Me' blows the soul wide open.
This is not just penetration — this is possession. The woman’s expression is all surrender and sacred fire. Her mouth, parted in pleasure, could just as easily be mid-prayer or mid-scream. Her red hair is a trail of flame, her body a battlefield of bliss. And yet the real magic? The way her lover almost disappears — melting into the molten reds and textured chaos behind her.
Because this moment isn’t about him. It’s about what’s happening within her.
Emotionally, this piece hits the hardest. It’s the vulnerable roar of being seen, taken, and transformed. It’s about trust, and the ecstatic risk of letting someone all the way in — not just between your thighs, but behind your eyes.
And as the third in my MoMA lineup, it doesn’t just close the curtain — it rips it down.
Art that enters through the eyes and exits through the spine
Desire doesn’t live in safe spaces. It spills, it shatters, it sanctifies. These works aren’t here to decorate — they’re here to disrupt. To ask why violence is framed and praised while pleasure gets pixelated. To remind you that eroticism is not a genre — it’s a truth. And when art dares to tell it? It deserves a wall, not a warning.
So go ahead. Hang them in your memory. Or better yet — hang them in your bedroom.
Buy 'Within me' Art-Print
Buy 'Rider' Art-Print
Buy 'Enter my mind' Art-Print
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