This campaign has a lot of awesome stuff going for it.
1) Transgender PoC make up about half the face of the campaign.
2) There is a genderqueer person (!!) and their caption respectfully uses “person” instead of man or woman.
3) Plus-sized trans* people for the win!
4) Finally a campaign explicitly for trans* people that emphasizes our deserving respect and courtesy.
5) The transgender women and men are included in “any woman/man” which is huge because it emphasizes that trans* women and men are women and men too; it leaves no room for argument and doesn’t turn it into a debate about genitals.
6) Emphasis on our being a part of the communities we live in. We aren’t any different than anyone else.
I really love the DC Transgender Respect campaign and I wish more states and cities would launch stuff like this!
Rita Hayworth. Dance of the seven veils. Salome (1953).
Considering the popular reputation of a girl known as Salome, who had something to do with the unhinging of John the Baptist’s head, and considering the wide-eyed admiration in which Rita Hayworth is held, it is not surprising to find the two young ladies brought together and exploited in a film.
Who knew that what the world really needed was a nightmarish empty-eyed Anglo-Saxon/Medieval blend production of Hamlet?
Edwin Austin Abbey did, apparently.
Or so The Play Scene in Hamlet, which he painted in 1897, evinces.
It combines a number of Abbey’s interests, as he (the Encyclopædia Britannica writes) “specialized in large literary and historical works encompassing the various period revivals then in fashion: [including] medieval, [and] Shakespearean….”
But that isn’t the only difference in Abbey’s scene.
We, dear reader, seem to be the play.
Claudius stares us down (evenly, stoically—but certainly tensely). Gertrude shrinks away from him as much as from the players. Polonius stares proudly in…entirely the wrong direction? Well, never mind him.
Ophelia seems a little glazed. But I’d be distracted by Hamlet’s carryings-on, too. Sitting on a heap of wolf furs, he seems less interested now in the lap he so insisted upon claiming than his uncle—a gaze shared by Horatio, who stands guard-like at the side with one hand on the hilt of his sword, to see how Claudius responds to this enactment of his guilt.
Meanwhile, one of the gravediggers has crashed the party, crouching beside the usurping king.
Everyone else peers out at us with flat affects and black eyes.
Including, disconcertingly, a child with a hunting horn.