I wish Ophelia were a painter and that Hamlet were talking about her work. It’s pretty likely he’s talking about make-up here – but I’d love a narrative in which Ophelia makes really scandalous artwork and Hamlet’s heard all about it. Marcellus went to that Out There Art Gallery Downtown and he happened to notice the little card next to a series of really twisted paintings.
He was stunned to see that sweet little obedient Ophelia was the person behind those big canvases of bodies twisted and torn open.
He’d never expected that she might paint a nude, that she’d even ever seen a nude, nonetheless paint them in such surreal and violent positions. He couldn’t help but tell Hamlet about the show when he got back. In part, he’d thought he must have known. Surely her boyfriend and seen her art work! But no – it was all news to Hamlet, too. He’d thought about going to see them himself – when all of this death and marriage struck – and he let it slip. Now, here, as he breaks up with her, he suddenly remembers.
