AMANDA McHARDY

itch & scab

2021 – 2023

My mom always told me not to scratch at my bug bites. She said I’d only make it worse. But they’d itch so bad that, I knew, itching would bring such relief. I wouldn’t be able to focus on much else until I did. So, I’d scratch and scratch and scratch, until they bled. I couldn’t be mad about it, it was my own doing.

I’ve never really been good at not scratching. Once my mind is set on something, I have to act on it. It’s a compulsion.

A couple of years ago, I became fixated on the idea that I was wasting my youth and that I would have nothing to show for the ‘best years of my life.’ To combat these thoughts, I began documenting my life. Or maybe it was to counteract my feelings of inadequacy, but I was hell-bent on capturing every ‘perfect’ moment shared between me and my friends.

I scratched at the itch.

Like the presence of a bug bite, this became an obsession. I lost control. I was so focused on capturing every memory that I forgot to be a part of them. Hiding behind my camera, I buried emotions and fears within each and every photograph.

I scratched and scratched and scratched until it bled.

The itch evolved. I found myself using photography as a means of emotional suppression for more than just my fears of growing up and imperfection. It distracted me from creative burnout, my fluctuating self-confidence, anxiety, and, most recently, grieving the loss of my Nonno. After self-reflecting, I feel embarrassed and sad about my past actions.

I can’t be embarrassed about it, it was my own doing. But was it really such a relief?

Because as I see it now, succumbing to the itch only leaves you with a scab. 

Itch Cont.                                               Old Habits Die Hard                                             Monograph