It’s Not Really Chicken

I’ve decided to write my Poetics of Witnessing paper about my self-portraiture project and how it relates to what we’ve been talking about. I think I’ve opened an emotional can of worms.

I was stuck for a while because I wasn’t writing more than an artist’s statement. I just kept repeating myself. So I decided to look at one of my pictures and describe it. Easy and simple. Then I started writing about the process of taking the picture, and how I asked my dad to take it, and then I started thinking about how important my dad is to me. I started writing about what may have been going through his mind at the moment, what he may think when he reflects on the image, what I think about when I look at the image…needless to say, it was emotional. I started crying in the library.

I’m a daddy’s girl, I know. And I’m hoping it’ll hit a soft spot with my professor, even though he has two sons and no daughters. But being a parent is a universal experience, right? Maybe?


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