I was offered the chance to work on a photo series based on the unromanticization of life. I presupposed it would take on a sort’ve thoughtless and self-indulgent form of documentary photography. Thoughtless in the way I wouldn’t use an actual camera nor use a filter to simulate one. Thoughtless in a way that turns away from the curation of photos on Instagram, like that of @orionvanessa , and even turning away from the feigned unpretentiousness of “casual instagram.” I said I could be authentic in a way that my peers could only be deluded into thinking. Upon me, crept my inability to compartmentalize this project and my ego. What lingered at the inception of my work were thoughts that everyone would hate it. It wouldn’t be cool enough, witty enough, decent enough. I forged ahead trying not to think of this. And upon completion it had less to do with the photos and more to do with my ability to reckon with how to actually do as I was told.

To take on authenticity is a fallacy composed of casualness and self-attachment within interactions. It is not something we can struggle for, but something caught during a viewer’s gaze. This is nothing new—I’m not telling a new story but simply speaking about how I attempted to enter an aged storyline. to be real.

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