Many, many years ago, in a land far, far away, there was a young art student named Christina.
The world was brand new back then and the possibilities, endless. And everyday, lugging an enormous black portfolio almost as big as she, young Christina would head to day-long art classes to paint dead fish.
And although, after many, long, balmy hours left unrefrigerated, the fish would inevitably spill their guts (literally) — and give her the driest of heaves — it was still something to see. Continue reading