Hello darling voyeur, I’m Chloe Blossom, your flame-haired temptress weaving fantasies into reality with my online content. Come daylight, I’m the quintessential Canadian mom next door, juggling the wild dance of family life. But as dusk falls, I slip into the shadows and transform into your alluring digital temptress.
My life is a whirlwind of motherhood, pets, and chores. Yet amid the chaos, I capture moments to indulge in the arts—my sanctuary. With each dance to a rhythm, turn of a book page, or music that caresses the air, I am transported. I have an unapologetic love for pin-up culture. My closets are sanctuaries to the finest silks and satins, lavishing my curves with stockings, high heels, and exquisite lingerie.
Kinks and fetishes? They’re not just my allies; they’re a celebration of freedom and the primal passion that exists in all of us. My artistry? It’s a tapestry of illicit sinful fantasies—a nurturing touch, the timeless temptations of a secretary, the scandalous charm of a homewrecker, and the commanding presence of a dominant woman who knows just how to invigorate your deepest, most primal instincts.
Welcome to my comforting realm where profound emotions merge with unadulterated desire.
I often think about writing, yet the amount I produce is far less. At what point does the sacrifice of work and the duties of being a mother outweigh the fragility of the soul’s needs? Things are not bad or sad here, although some thoughts compel me to write beyond my own excuses why I shouldn’t. How many loads of laundry waiting are the cost of a diary entry?
‘Loss of Innocence’ by Josie Rivas. A postcard given to me about eight years ago in 2015.
I will tell you I am a maximalist with a slight bad habit of minimalism. Perhaps the reality is I am just bad at committing to one or the other. I am talking about aesthetics and art here. A little, big art affair of the mind and heart. My goal is to cover my walls as much as possible with art. Art that fulfills me in one way or another. That’s the maximalism. When I was little, was there much of even a slight inch of wall allowed behind all the treasures on my wall? At that time, ripped from magazines, ragged edges, taped and placed. A collage of my mind and values wallpapering my bedroom.
When you are an adult, you can expand the art to many more walls. Except, you have to consider the aesthetics of what your guests would want to lay eyes on. Or, if you are like me, and film at home, what the algorithms will get moody over and deem unacceptable. Sorry, Vargas pin-up girls, you get shoved in a box for now until I can figure out where to place you in my crowded bedroom. The stronger the death grip of censorship becomes on social media, the more eagerly I look to art for comfort. I remember a time when my ignorance was at full force, and before more legal changes trickled down insidiously from the control of social media giants and banking systems.
And do you ever get a damn bug in your head, seemingly out of nowhere and you can’t shake it out? Tonight mine is about a postcard. I used to collect postcards, then friends would give me them. I have kept most of them, even throughout my minimalist bad habits. They deserve to cover a wall at some point, I am not ready for that yet though. This postcard is secretively in plain sight, carelessly sharing a magnet with a health pamphlet on the side of my fridge.
Nobody notices it. The front is adorned with all the usual suspects, alphabet magnets, little drawings, a mommy calendar, phrase magnets, and a few random other cute magnets. This postcard, sits above the health pamphlet, yet is shielded partially by a burrito recipe printed out months ago under its own magnet. I forget about it often, until once in awhile, there it is. There she is. I notice her. I notice myself.
My secret postcard in plain sight holds great emotion to it, I cherish it, despite it having ambivalent meaning to me. Given to me by a then bestie, the kind of bestie that is maybe a bit too close. A sisterhood that is both toxic love and forever-by-your-side there for you. The postcard goes beyond her though, I think a lot about the meaning of this postcard. A longing for a loss nothing to do with her, then a loss that is to do with her, while a loss of the future that has not happened and is unknown. An everlasting grief encapsulated in a piece of art.
That’s just it, that is what art is. Visual queues to evoke emotions with the deeply set associations. I can’t tell you what or why my associations are, before I even knew what the painting meant, it got to me. I think to myself, when did I lose my innocence? I can tell you some memories, certain events I lost some. Is it a bunch of events, or is it one profound event that you lose your innocence?
I think even if you have lost more innocence than you meant to or had innocence stolen from you before you were ready, I think it is possible to gain fragments of it back. I feel art can help you save parts of yourself you thought were lost.
As written to me from my friend at the time:
I’ve been keeping this particular postcard for…3 years? I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. That would be you! I have moved perhaps 6 or 7 times and met so many people, but none have warranted that ‘occasion’. You’re a special person and I want *you* to have this. I got it from an art gallery opening…there was a piece Josie Rivas had that was interactive. He got everyone to write on this piece when they believed their innocence was lost. It was called ‘innocence lost’ actually, I think. Anyhow. Onto the next step. Awesomeness found. <3 you
MANY DANCERS ARE INTROVERTS. OUR COMMUNICATION IS WITHOUT WORDS.
TO DANCE IS,
TO HEAL. TO FEEL FREE. TO HAVE FUN. TO FEEL ALIVE. TO EXPERIMENT. TO WORK HARD. TO BRING ART TO LIFE. TO CONTINUALLY GROW. TO TRANSFORM EMOTIONS. TO ENTER A MAGICAL WORLD. TO TURN CHAOS INTO BEAUTY. TO FEEL PRESENT AND ABSENT. TO CONNECT WHILE VULNERABLE. TO EXPRESS YOUR INNERMOST WORLD. TO BE EMOTIONAL WITHOUT JUDGMENT.
In reformer Pilates, my favourite instructor had asked me before if I was a dancer because of my movements. Most of my adolescence and adulthood I have been asked that from people. Today, there were two new moves she was teaching us, I became too scared to do them. They triggered me, reminding me of movements I used to do multiple times a day in dance training.
She came to me after the class to check in on me, she said to me how I move so well on the reformer, that I am able to do those movements, but I looked so defeated. I did feel defeated. I told her I was too much in my head after breaking my ankle and having surgery almost two years ago. That I was scared. She understood.
I came home and I cried for a long while, the kind of grief sobbing of something or someone dying. But then, I danced.
There is a commitment and accountability that needs to be met. Much important as keeping my little guy thriving, keeping the online work consistent, keeping the home clean. Some priority must be given to what my core identity is, to dance. To be a mother, while also show the resilience, the grit, and the flow of movement to my little guy.
Why is it so easy to neglect the soul when it keeps us alive?
If you haven’t already, I hope you find what brings you that charge of life force.
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