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Jean Francois Ferdinand Lematte, 1850-1929

Oreste et les Furies, 1876, oil on canvas, 75x54 cm

Private Collection (Artnet)

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There are many depictions of the iconic fight about Troja in artworks though history. One of the best in my opinion is a unique vase of the Berlin painter (505 to 460 BC) you can find in the British Museum today. It was painted in the early classical Attic red-figure style (the one we automatically associate with greek vase paintings today). He depicted the epic climax of the Trojan War, the battle between Achilles and Hector. Both heroes are supported by their patrons, Athena and Apollo.

I tried to use every element you can find on this vase and include it in my fore-edge painting. So, this fore-edge painting is my attempt to change my favourite vase into book form.

Whenever I read the Iliad (honestly, it's so good!!! You have to give it a try and just open it at any page and read it out loud) I just love the thought, that humans have read the same words as I do for thousands of years.

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them. them! them.

inspired by @two-bees-poetry :’)

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when priam is like hi helen you have done nothing wrong in your life ever i only blame the gods and fate. btw who is that massive hottie on the battlefield. and helen is like you have been at war with this guy for the past nine years how do you not know who agamemnon is

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twelfth night main plot: haha bisexual love triangle that is gay in both directions! haha mistaken identity and gender fuckery haha

malvolio side plot:

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hey um i’ve got some bad news. we mulled your boyfriend. he fell in the wine and we mulled him. yeah with the cinnamon sticks.

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in the club suffering a sea change into something rich and strange

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november 17, 2024

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I don’t have a firm stance on whether hamlet is “mad” or just acting and I also think that’s not a great question because obviously there’s degrees and I don’t think it can be answered with “he is” or “he isn’t.” but there are two moments in hamlet where I always think “oh, he’s really lost it.”

the first is when he’s making jokes about Polonius’ dead body in front of the whole court, when he won’t tell them where he’s hidden his corpse. even the fact that he’s hidden it is horrific and makes no sense—obviously his mom knows, obviously she’s telling everyone, obviously there will be consequences. so why did he do it? why did he drag polonius from behind the curtains in his mother’s room to the stairs, drag his body up the stairs, and into the lobby—he’s got to have blood all over him from the struggle, there’s got to be blood all over the stairs. is ophelia nearby? is anyone taking care of her? does anyone usher her away? or is she around the corner, listening? does she hear hamlet joking about how her father will be food for the worms, and that is how she finds out her father is dead?

the second moment is when hamlet is talking about what he’s done to rosencrantz and guildenstern. it’s not really clear there’s something off from anything he says, but from the way horatio responds. all of horatio’s responses are remarkably short, mostly one sentence, monosyllabic replies—go look at the scene in V.2, he’s almost speechless. there’s something wrong with hamlet, really wrong, horatio can tell—and it disturbs him. maybe he call tell from his tone, maybe from the way hamlet brings up conscience twice and asks horatio to confirm that his own is “perfect,” maybe something in his face or his eyes. we don’t know. we’re not told, by stage directions or otherwise, that something’s wrong. but we know from horatio’s replies. horatio sees something that the audience can’t quite distinguish, something really, deeply wrong with his friend—he sees he’s not acting.

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the curse of local theatre is that a show can change you forever and there is no recording of it anywhere at all and after a few years all you have are scattered memories and the knowledge that you were different before.

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$1 butch odysseus comm for @measureformeasure! this was a treat. for both of us

interested? check out my commission sheet here!

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hamlet, bouncing onstage for his fifth unwanted soliloquy of the day: