Christian Boltanski, Réserves: Lac des Morts
I think I am a masochistic person.
I've two essays to write for this term, both offering a fair amount of freedom in topic choice. Still, I've decided to write both on different representations of death in a variety of artistic mediums. 12,000 words... 50 pages... x amount of photographs, images, texts, representations... all dedicated to my academic ponderings on a subject that literally nauseates me due to my completely (ir?)rational fear of it.
Is there pleasure in self-torture? I'll let you know when I've finished my little projects of doom. If not in their creation, I am sure there will be pleasure in purging them from my life, flinging them at my professors and running for dear life. Oh. Dear. Life.
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