When I look at this photograph, the hairs on the back of my neck prick up. You can’t deny how unnerving it is. The catalogue entry and display caption will tell you it’s because the image references underaged sexual violations layered under the farcical idea of chicken knickers. That by placing a plucked chicken, ready to be filled, on a seemingly young female reflects the sinister feat of objectifying and sexualising her. But if I were honest, I completely missed all these references. Everything Sarah Lucas wanted to say about gender and humour flew straight out the window.

 

Because chickens – and actually, all birds – are terrifying.

 

It’s that particular scrawny wing on the left makes me shiver. The smooth plucked skin with its contorted joint triggers too much of a visceral image. The more I look at it, the louder I hear the chicken squawking and its flapping gets more and more frantic.  I squirm just thinking about how it must have felt when Lucas placed this bird on herself.

 

It would never have passed my internal risk assessment. Just by looking at it, my body tells me of the risk: Alert! Alert! Extremely Harmful x Very Likely = Intolerable!

 

But then I catch a glimpse of those saggy granny panties and my heart stops its frenzied palpitations. They somehow manage to pull me back to reality before I spiral down into a hysterical breakdown. How can they not with their comical farce?

 

Yet with this, a new wave of unease approaches… One that I can’t escape just by looking away.