Thursday, December 8, 2011

Acts IV and V

 Act IV:

"O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs
All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude,
When sorrows come, they come not single spies
But in battalions. First, her father slain:
Next, your son gone; and he most violent author
Of his own just remove: the people muddied,
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers,
For good Polonius' death; and we have done but greenly,
In hugger-mugger to inter him: poor Ophelia
Divided from herself and her fair judgment"
Act V: After so much tension, everything simply seems to explode, rupture, fall apart, etc. There is not consolation, there seems to be no reason that is legitimate to suggest why everybody died, and cathartic grief takes over. This is what I tried to capture with these two pieces.

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