Scarlet bath for Ophelia and Photographs : Martina Rimbaldo





It  arrived… that fatal day, she stops being her!




What will she turn into? What kind of thing, when the stage of life collapses, when all the lights go out?


 


It is not known… it is not important… she decided to firmly remove, or rather tear the shell of her body harder than coconut nuts, weighing more than a hundred tons of steel, to remove it from her  like a broken feather, gentle soul, to finally see and realize how the color of her true “ME” looks like.





Today, she doesn't care about clothing or footwear or any worldly cursory material.





White simple, cotton woven, underwear in contact with water transparent becomes, it reveals beauty, tenderness, vulnerability of women's porcelain skin, as if the lunar night itself  with its rays white acrylic paint paints over, the entire female body. Skin covers  flesh, bones, and revealing femine firm breasts of hers .





Everything a lover once loved, soon into the decay, will go away, a biological waste that not even death wants to give to his underground kingdom. The black rosary from the neck extends to a long ago cutout  umbilical cord. In blue ink, carved scars on the skin of her  hands, cloudy unreadable letters become in a bloody nebula that rises and differs in water sorely float, losing the meaning of their existence . Red cell molecules like a wild beast finally released. They are the only ones who dance and sing, joyfully, entertaining  the nearby Dahlia flowers.  The lukewarm water is cooling, the girl's body is shaking like a stripe in the wind, which is from the pain? Which is from the cold? The blue, seductive eyes, into  the emptiness  they stare more and more, like the fragments of glass that stab the white eyes they  lose touch with reality.


The only part of the body that otherwise, persistent death fails, is her playful dark hair, she stays in the eternity to live, to play her role as a silent witness, who testifies of  the death's cruelty .




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