SAN HENDERSON 2026Over the past few days, we've been revisiting the work of several photographers we featured on ALRNCN nearly a decade ago. It's fascinating to see how their style has evolved over the years and where their creative journey has taken them.
Today it's
Sam Henderson's turn. Based in Miami, he returns with
Femme ArtNude, his latest series of erotic photographs.
A new collection that continues his exploration of the beauty of the female body through elegant, carefully crafted, and highly personal photography.
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I have no idea what people see in riding that thing... especially when they have to pay for it.
AUGUST IS SLIPPING AWAYAugust officially ends on Monday, but we’ve decided to say goodbye to it today, the way it deserves, because the end of August should always be marked with
a minute of silence, a cold beer and a distant stare into the horizon.
August isn’t just a month. August is a way of looking at life. It’s the month we automatically associate with holidays, even if it’s been years since we had the kind of summer break we remember from childhood. It means waking up without an alarm, having no idea what day it is, eating at ridiculous hours and discovering that a shower, a pair of flip-flops and a clean T-shirt can be considered perfectly acceptable formalwear.
For a few weeks, even people without a penny to their name get to feel rich. Not because their bank balance suddenly has more zeros, but because they have something far more valuable:
time in which nobody is telling them what to do.
You can be sitting on your balcony in a plastic chair, drinking a can of beer while listening to your neighbor argue with his wife, and still feel as though life is smiling at you. Because you don’t have to work tomorrow. Because you don’t need to set the alarm. Because for a few hours, the world can keep spinning without you having to take part in it.
But everything comes to an end. The suitcases go back into the closet, the flip-flops return to the bottom of the shoe rack and the alarm clock reappears on the bedside table with the same asshole attitude it has always had. September arrives loaded with schedules, unanswered emails, school runs, traffic and people claiming that this time they really are going to start taking the gym seriously.
Most people will already have to start looking ahead to
August 2027 to fantasize about that brief period of the year when we can pretend we’re actually in control of our own lives. There are twelve months to go, but there’s no point thinking about it too much. We just have to keep surviving one week at a time, one public holiday at a time and one beer at a time.
Today, we raise a glass to August. To those who traveled to the other side of the world and those who never left their neighborhood. To those who slept in five-star hotels and those who set up an inflatable pool on the terrace. Because holidays aren’t always about going somewhere far away. Sometimes they’re simply about
nobody being able to force you to be anywhere else.
Until next year, August. You didn’t last long, you cost us far too much and, as always, you disappeared just as we were starting to get used to being alive.
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