In this exploration of vulnerability, trust, and self-awareness, shibari is a reminder that intimacy, like art, isn’t always easy. But it’s always an opportunity to learn something deeper about ourselves.
For years, I was intrigued by the art of shibari. It felt like this perfect blend of intimacy, art, and vulnerability. My husband, a rock climber, and I had been eyeing books on it for a long time, knowing his expertise with knots would be a natural fit. Yet, life got in the way, and we never quite made time to explore it. Recently, though, I had the opportunity to step into this world. I was invited to a shibari event by the photographer of Fet Erotica magazine, someone I’d worked with on other shoots. I was to be rigged by none other than Master Blaise, a world-renowned rigger. I felt honored and nervous, excited yet uneasy.
When I arrived, I watched Lydia, an experienced aerial artist, as she was rigged first. Her grace and strength as she moved through the ropes and hoops were awe-inspiring. But it was also intimidating. It was clear that her body had been trained for this, while I knew my flexibility and stamina weren’t on that level. My anxiety must have been obvious because I got a few reassuring glances, as if the universe was telling me, "You’re in good hands."
When it was my turn, I felt at ease and confident in Blaise's capable hands. Alongside his assistant, he handled me with the utmost respect and professionalism. As someone who enjoys exhibitionism, I was excited to be the canvas for their art. I couldn't deny the thrill of being objectified as a stranger's hands expertly manipulated the ropes around my semi-nude form. There is a certain sacredness in the way shibari transforms the body into a living work of art, with each knot representing a unique story.
But as beautiful as the experience was visually, I learned a harsh truth—shibari is incredibly uncomfortable! My chest was constricted, making it difficult to draw in a full breath. Each knot dug deeper into my skin, leaving angry welts in its wake, and I fought to suppress the urge to cry out in agony. The exquisite visuals were quickly overshadowed by the searing pain pulsing through every fiber of my being.
I was far from the graceful vision I had envisioned, my body wracked with exhaustion from a night of restless anticipation fueled by Red Bull and hard-boiled eggs. Little did I know that preparing for the physically demanding art of shibari required more than just mental preparation. My body was not prepared for the inversions involved, despite having my weight supported by the kind assistant between every pose.
Though I didn’t feel elegant or beautiful in that moment, the experience taught me something important about both vulnerability and boundaries in intimate art. And here’s the thing about shibari—it’s not just about the ropes. It’s about the trust, the connection, and the willingness to surrender. It asks you to let go of control and, at the same time, know your limits.
A Brief History of Shibari
Shibari, the Japanese art of rope bondage, originated from hojōjutsu, a form of martial art used to restrain prisoners in feudal Japan. What began as a method of control and captivity transformed over time into a deeply aesthetic and erotic practice. In modern times, shibari has evolved into a practice of artistic expression, where the ropes are used to enhance intimacy, trust, and power dynamics. The knots and ties themselves hold symbolic weight, representing both physical and emotional surrender.
For many, shibari becomes a way to explore their relationship with control, vulnerability, and the body. It can be meditative for both the rigger and the person being tied, as it requires deep presence and communication. The rigger must be attuned to the body’s subtle cues, ensuring the experience is safe, consensual, and mindful of the physical limits.
Lessons in Surrender and Boundaries
Viewed from a perspective of sexuality and kink, shibari is an intriguing art because it reveals both the aesthetic and uncomfortable aspects of surrender. This practice encourages you to confront your vulnerability - quite literally as you are bound and confined - and navigate through the resulting emotions. While for some, this experience can be liberating, for others, like myself, it can reveal edges we didn’t know we had.
I walked away from my first shibari experience with a newfound respect for those who practice it regularly, but I also learned that not every art form is meant for everyone. And that’s okay. Our bodies and minds communicate with us in unique ways, telling us what feels right and what doesn’t. While I admire the beauty of shibari from a distance, I also honor my experience and what my body told me in that moment.
As an intimacy coach, I often talk about the importance of knowing your boundaries and honoring them. Shibari taught me the same lesson in a different way—sometimes beauty and discomfort coexist, and the most important thing we can do is listen to what our bodies are trying to tell us.
So, while I wish I loved shibari more, I walked away from the experience with a deeper understanding of myself. And perhaps that’s the real art—learning to hold space for both our desires and our discomforts, and knowing that both can exist without needing to be resolved.
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