I found one of my Ophelia photographs on a blog. I think it is a Portuguese writer, mixing images and text – here’s the link: casaetextodaana
My photograph was accompanied by a long passage; the translation, although clumsy (I just pasted the original text into Google translate), is still beautiful and sad:
“I dreamed of you tonight. You who have the eye color of honey and when exposed to the sun shines.
Clarissa had the kindness of a few, a respect for life. He told me he felt a huge void, and the rebates he passed went back and forth, made her tremble and spend hours in bed. I never understood why she, so beautiful and intelligent could not ignore the ugly.
From an early age, even if not old enough to read, insisted that teach. Connecting the dots of the letters, united the words, pretending to read the comic books. As a teenager, wrote poetry … if locked-hours in the room with Clarice in hand. I read several times the same lines. He copied in the diary that he thought more beautiful. That was all for her. I want to remind you, but sometimes I forget your face shape.
There was a time in which succumbed. Not left, not studying, not read, did not eat. Doctors indicated drugs she took not. Smell your journal. Spend my finger that lock of hair you gave me.
Clarissa spent the days without knowing why he lived. And I, who both loved her, did not understand why she feel that way. Like everything else in his life, it was determined in ending with his grief. His decision kills me. In the dream I had today you turned a water bubble and dissolved.
I wonder what was the last thing you thought. They want me to forget you. No longer meet with Clarissa nor I will see her beautiful eyes and shiny hair. Still, constantly I think about what I would say to her. I would say that sadly nearly over. I think her so much. I try to believe in something since gone.”
Ophelia is a series of Polaroid Emulsion Lifts onto water colour paper made in response to studying previous artistic interpretations of Shakespeare’s text. The series studies the destruction and turmoil that lies beneath the romanticism and serenity suggested in traditional representations of her fate, both in image and process.
This photograph was also used previously for the cover of River Wolton’s anthology of poems: Leap.