Neither of us had seen that much roadkill in some time, both being rural chicks living in a major city. Erin and I both crinkled our noses at the raccoon that had exploded all over the highway as we drove deeper into the countryside. We'd both agreed to attend Sleep.Shoot.Breathe together, as it would both be our first time. The New England based photographer group had been splashing all over my Instagram feed, demanding attention. It was filled with scenic views and size inclusive models in long, white nightgowns. I was delighted at how the models were portrayed in a dreamy "madness on the moores" sort of way. It was an excellent chance to pulls out the long dresses I'd purchased for Halloween costumes. But I had been lazy and abandoned them on the day. I stayed in and ate Reeses and wasted the night to a soundtrack of Vincent Price classics.

Arriving to the house was akin to arriving to a Stephen King set. A sculpture garden, complete with hellish, metal dogs, greeted us as we pulled up. It was along a road of plain houses with little signs reading "Christ has risen" stuck into the lawns. Red maple leaves decorated the gravel walk and backyard leading up to the open, wheat field. Stepping out of the car, I felt my entire body relax.

My usual tenseness was swept away with a crisp breeze.

My city armor was dropped.

My shoulders relaxed.

I wanted nothing more then to take my shoes off.

Inside is a palace of delightful contradictions. I'm told the owner of the house is an archeologist, as well as an art collector. She's the grandmother of the host as well. The rustic, wood interior is filled with quirky nooks and corners, making the light-filled house a photographer's paradise. I don't see the extent of the archeological inspiration until someone suggests shooting in the bathroom.

Once in my first costume, a Victorian shift, I explore the downstairs bathroom. A stone floor and metal faucets shaped like hands compliment the exposed stone walls, where the owner has stuck candles and trinkets. Lexie the photographer pulls back the shower curtain, revealing the true star of the room.

We all shriek with delight.

A recreation of Lascaux covers the shower walls. The pale walls and clay colored figures stretch all the way to the ceiling. Dancing shapes and animals create a ritualistic scene. Once we start shooting, we notice one more detail. The dancing figures are all very well endowed. So much so we thought those figures were holding horns instead of their...instruments. But because we're all adults, we laugh first and then start shooting.

I make my way outside, abandoning my shoes as soon as I can. After discovering where the prickly vines are, I spend the rest of the day in the long grass and moss, only feeling a few pinches on the gravel walkway.

Every so often, I'd look up and see the other models shooting in the windows. Occasionally there's a butt out, or someone frolicking in see-through shawls. It seems fitting to shoot nudity and implied shots in this secluded, peaceful place. It feels more like a Waterhouse painting, a pastoral celebration of nudity instead of the sleazy, porn inspired ass shots that most male photographers will call "art".

I felt the closest to my classical acting training in this space. Flowing, open dresses garnished with headdresses spoke deeply to my many nights reading Macbeth and The Changeling. I could hear Ibsen's ghost clapping as I stood in the wheat field, clad in a wedding dress and windburned lips.

Feeling free is the only way to let inspiration rush in. In the span of five hours, I'd played several strong women, from all walks of life. Each costume change was a new episode of Masterpiece Theater.

With 1981 Photography, everything was Irish. The teal from my Free People dress blended perfectly with the pashmina that was gifted from my mom. I was a simple, country maiden.

I was Tess Durbeyfield, sitting outside the May Dance, waiting for Angel. It's the opening of the book, before everything goes to shit.

I was a fairy in disguise, leading men from village to my circle where they'd never be heard from again. This is the last image you see before you plummet into a realm no man can return from.

PA.Wanderlust and I wandered around the property, determined to get the hellhounds into frame. While investigating, we stumbled across a bush that was still growing fruit. We have no idea what fruit it was growing. I thought it was an apricot tree, until I remembered I'd never seen an apricot tree. After a quick google search, I realized how wrong I was. But the thorny branches and bright orbs reminded me of something in Savannah, Georgia. The beautiful and dangerous background matched perfecting with my half-off gown from NastyGal. Beautiful because of it's colorful, cutout style. Dangerous because my left boob was inches away from making it's solo debut.

Lexie put her camera aside to be my costar. With our matching, platinum hair we could have been sisters in a 1960's horror film. Hopefully we'd play opposite young Frank Langella, my mother's favorite portrayer of Count Dracula.

If we couldn't be vampires, we could still be those femme fatales of the bayou. I see us as two sisters from a well to do family. It's the late 1700s. Father's decided to remarry as woman suspiciously close to our age. Naturally we have to murder her and hide her remains in the swamp. There's trailing shots of Spanish moss and wrought iron gates. At least one of us goes made and runs out into the marsh, never to be seen again (it's probably me). The other leaves the mansion to rot, and restart her life in the North. Sophia Coppola's directing.

I really need to sit my ass down and write these scripts. Once I move, I'm covering my walls in this gorgeous imagery. I'll hire my friend Matt to poke me with a stick when I get distracted. Then all these talented people from this day will get red carpet invites from me when we go up at the Cannes Festival.

More to come I'm sure. But special thanks to

PA.Wanderlust

Sleep.Shoot.Breathe.

Hi.Im.Lexie

ECCollective

LizbetPhotos

1981Photos

ErinMarhefka

And everyone else involved with that special day in the early November