Bad of the Heart | ©Allicette Torres

Sometimes there are days or weeks or months where I feel like I have no business making photographs. Plainly said, I motherfucking suck. I am hating myself, hating my work, hating the way I see things. The last two weeks I have been wanting to take all of the work I made from 2007-10 and destroy it all—negatives, prints and even the frames of the ones that are mounted. It’s like their existence in the world is disturbing my mental peace. They make me want to dig my nails into my skin until I pull out chunks. Bleed.

Last week in a fit of art anger I destroyed my Rollei; I mean smashed, kicked, stomped and all around decimated. Afterwards I cried for 3 hours at what I had done.

I am in deep loath of my work. I don’t know who the fuck told me I am a photographer.

I want to carve into my flesh,
you. are. not.
you. are. naught.
you. are. not.
you. are. naught.
you. are. not.
you. are. naught.
you. are. not.
you. are. naught.

Fuck.