CAUTION: Once you pick this book up, you may not be able to put it down. It sucks you in like MTV after a super-sized Jamaican spliff. A dreamlike journey into the fiendish imagination of a ravishing talent, Wild Skin is nothing less than totally spectacular. Oversized, overstuffed, and immaculately printed, this is more than just a book - it's an event.

Batts' style lies somewhere in the chasm between fetish and gothic photography, and yet it is unlike either of these two genres. It is something entirely original to Carlos Batts and something that Arthur Rimbaud might accomplish were he raised from the dead, trained in the art of color photography, and forced to wear a walkman blaring Trent Reznor's "Head Like a Hole" over and over again. The pages are not numbered so one cannot easily report the number of images featured - but there are LOTS of them and the book itself is very THICK. Each image takes up 100% of the page (very cool) and offers no respite from the attack. The girls eagerly posture and pose and probe and pee and pontificate. It's highly sexual, somewhat scary, and is ultimately an onslaught to the senses .. and I cannot wait to do it again.