My name is Liz. I need direction. I overuse commas, my house is a mess, my hair needs a trim and I have no marketable skills: It's fun here, you'll see!

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June 16th, 2009

I Am Capable Of Art

In the summer of 2000, when I was 16, my dad took our family to Europe. It was one of the best experiences of my life, partially because of the various cheeses, breads, and cream-based foods I ate. But mostly because, dude, check out my travelling companion and roommate:

You’ll notice that this brilliant photo has been mauled with scissors. This was a common practice for me during my early high school days, as I maintained a “funky” collage-themed photo album. Now, though, whenever I flip through the pages of hacked up images, I want to strangle Teenaged Me. (Yes, mom. I’m sure you told me I would regret it. Well, you win.)

Midway through putting the photos from our European vacation into the album, reason took hold, and I stopped cutting things up. I am mighty glad I did, because there are some real gems in there that can only be appreciated in their original context. For example, across from our hotel in Paris was a temporary fair grounds that had been set up to celebrate the new millennium (remember that whole thing?). After dinner one night, we walked through it and something caught my eye: An enormous, inflatable rooster head, which I guess is what the French felt symbolized Y2K. I had to photograph it. I needed to show all of my friends back home. So I stopped, pulled out my crusty old Olympus, and took the photo. I think you’ll find the result to be nothing short of pure art:

My coffee table book will be for sale shortly.

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