Thursday, July 14, 2016



Ophelia sits on her chair making garlands of flowers. Her hands bleed from handling thorns. She is now wearing the wedding dress from the previous scene with Hamlet. The dress is torn and tattered and her flesh spills out in various places in ways that both eroticize her and make her more vulnerable. Her make-up is overdone and grotesque. In contrast to her torn dress and smeared lipstick and mascara Ophelia looks very calm. The trees and foliage from outside her window have pushed through the bars until they now intrude on her interior space. Her books are strewn, scattered and torn and her album of paintings and drawings lies open on the table.

The dolls are now mostly cut open and piled randomly like corpses on the shelf. Flowers are strewn over the table and the entire floor. Ophelia is muttering to herself.

I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another. I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made me mad. I say, we will have no more marriages. Wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them. (Sings) At his head a grass green turf, at his heels a stone.

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