So let's say you're a twenty-something living in small town Florida, working at a local high school, with two daughters and a husband. Seems like the American dream until you realize you're staring down the long barrel of a life that's been led three gazillion times before.
You panic. You probably read Kate Chopin's The Awakening and really get what homegurl was rapping about. Words like "self-actualization" creep into your consciousness.
So you do what any rationale person would do in such a scenario. You take off your clothes; you let strange men photograph you; you get fired from your job; you briefly become an internet pop star; you're photographed some more; you decline a Hustler invitation to do a shoot; you work at a strip club; you finally accept Hustler's invitation, because, it's, duh, like, Hustler; and then you upload said pictures to your Facebook account, because of course.
You are Victoria Valentine James: formerly recognized as Olivia Sprauer. And this is your life.
These are your photographs, and there's, actually, a nice narrative arc to them:
Is that? Could it be?
It is:
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