Creative Responses
Curated by: Addie Duncan, Junior
and Courtney Karp, Senior
Embedded Files
Below are creative responses curated by members of the cast, spanning mediums from writing to watercolor. These works are directly inspired and influenced by the Euripides' "Electra".
The Healing in Ruin
The Healing in Ruin
By Carol Kepler, Junior
By Carol Kepler, Junior
"This was a painting I made based on the image that stuck to my head while reading the play. It's a visual representation of what the play feels like to me, but also how think Electra's still image would look like.
I choose to use watercolor because it's one of the messiest types of painting, and also the one material I don't know how to manage. So it looks raw. Just like the play."
Rage
PHotography + Photoshop by Christian Trimmingham, Junior
"This is a short story I wrote inspired by the part of Electra that stuck out the most to me, which was the relationship between Electra and Clytemnestra, especially at the very end of the play. Despite everything they have gone through there is still love between them. I was also really intrigued by the similarities between the two. they are both women who are inherently driven by vengeance, they lost those they loved most in their life, and they slaughter another for closure. I wanted to represent how we cannot outrun our family and who they make us, and how sometimes we spend so much time wallowing in the fear of becoming our parents, that we became the thing we tried so hard to run away from."
My Mother's Eyes
My Mother's Eyes
A short story by marcela Weltsek-Medina, Junior
click to the right to read the story
Each thanksgiving My aunts would swarm me and would tell me I had my father’s nose, and my grandmother’s hair, it would change each year, but they would always tell me I had my mother’s eyes. A brown chocolate swirl, with a glimmer of green. I never saw it. I certainly did not look like my mother. She held her head up high and held all of her tension in her jaw. Me, I kept to myself, kept my shoulders rolled forward, and kept my tension locked away in my chest. My mother raised her voice when things went wrong, me I got quieter.
When I think of my mother, I remember this time in kindergarten. You know kids, they will pick you apart for the most random things. Today they decided my pigtails were in the wrong place and when my mother caught wind of this she stormed into the classroom and began to scream at five-year-olds. She was an unstoppable force, a fire that could never be put out. Her words shook the room and her presence sent a chill down your spine. That was the first time I remember fearing her.
Growing up you tend to have an idealized version of your family in your mind, but as I got older I started to remember who my mother truly was. The screaming matches with my father, each time she made me second guess every moment of my life because I feared her scrutiny. It confused me, how one day she would use her fury to protect and defend me, and other days to tear me apart. Over time I grew to hate her, it festered inside of me and ate away at me. Every day I wanted to tell her how she wronged me, how she made me miss out on my childhood, but I never did. I thought it would be better for everyone if I stayed quiet, and waited it out until I left home.
One night my father was out, she and I sat at the table quietly eating our meal. Typically meals like this end with her telling me I’m disappointing her, and that she wishes I would make something of myself. Tonight was no different. It started with my hair, which to her dismay I had recently cut, then with my school work, which hasn’t been up to her standards, and it just went on and on. I couldn’t handle it anymore. Your parents are meant to protect you. You would hope so, you are their child. They are meant to guide you and help you when you fall. Why couldn’t she be a parent like that? Why couldn’t she hold me when I was scared? I no longer held my hate inside, I let it out. She sat there in silence and all I could hear was her and my breath. In and out, in and out, our breath was in sync.
I thought I wasn’t like my mother, but when I got back to my room and looked in the mirror I finally saw my mother's eyes. Not only the brown chocolate swirl, with a glimmer of green but a raging ruthless fire. A hatred and anger I had only seen in my mother. Maybe I had chosen to never see my mother within myself, maybe it was easier to pretend I could outrun genetics. The truth is you can’t. No matter how fast you run or how much you deny, your family shapes you. I will always hold a piece of my mother within me, perhaps it’s time to embrace it.
Fair Daughter A poem by Brooke Phalen, Junior click to the right to read the poem
Fair Daughter A poem by Brooke Phalen, Junior click to the right to read the poem
Tender are the ruins caressed by a murderer,
Our cherub splattered red; we crumble beneath her.
Bones of a city once proud with King
Jut from our ground as once more we sing
O pride, the armor that bars a bare chest,
O greed, to put her conflict at rest.
Grief has wracked you raw,
Lines etch your face from calm
To the turmoil of violent hate,
Be warned fair daughter, tack your gait,
For retribution sustains such strong allure
But justice is not a heart turned pure.
Through arcs of stone, you solemnly wind,
Regretting the red that turned you blind,
Ruby red crimson coats away a mother’s love,
Your, her, his hands are slashed and stained with blood,
And our song is twisted to aid her pledge,
Revenge in the name of avenge.
Poppies wilt the ground beneath you,
O gods, dear gods, what did she do?
Our city is ruined, our queen is dead,
Where are the gods to steady her head?
Are you healed girl? Are you whole?
Or do you stand amongst these ruins with less of your soul.
Dear Brother poem by Brooke Phalen, Junior Click to the right to read
Dear Brother poem by Brooke Phalen, Junior Click to the right to read
Lean on me, my dear brother,
my shoulder is for your head
My palms hold your tears,
let my skin absorb their sting,
entangle your limbs in mine
to rest your strewn out muscles,
I have got you dear brother,
in your footprints find my footsteps
I sacrifice dear brother,
in my wake I leave Phocis,
farewell Strophius
For I found family in him
royalty does not challenge
my loyalty. Who is a
prince if not noble? And what
am I without him to love?
Beneath your soles feel my shoes,
linked under the crease of your
elbows feel my arms
from my lungs, breathes out your wind,
in my veins seethes your anger
cool your head and clear your mind,
rest easy, dear Orestes
life is not your burden to bear
in exile
in triumph
when you’re of skin on your back
or all the riches of Argos,
my heart beats for your lone ache
my bones strengthen at your fall
I have got you dear brother,
you never need bleed on your own.
Lethal Woman, poem by Jahlia Collins, Sophomore. click to the right to read
Lethal Woman, poem by Jahlia Collins, Sophomore. click to the right to read
She who is a lethal woman knows no bounds
See when the emotion takeover takes the one who was supposed to love her the most
Who hurt her the most
Shattered
the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree
When she transcends
The act of revenge
Her character called into question
A rejection of the “fairytale”
Self-reflexive
Standing over the slayed stabbed body
in the name of revenge
An obsession with revenge
Affection
See when she who is a lethal woman
Stuck in stubborn inflexible idealism
is stuck between a thought and a hard place Begins to feel affection
Underlying
Repressed
Realizing that love
and hate
Lay in the same bed at night
Weigh the same on her tongue
See she who is a lethal woman knows no bounds
Revenge Creeps poem by Addie Duncan, Junior click to the right to read
Revenge Creeps poem by Addie Duncan, Junior click to the right to read
Revenge creeps through the cracks of the House of Atreus
Amputating family ties with a plotted matricide
Electric blood spills from the breast of a sorrowful mother
For off of one violent action falls another
Feminine power surfaces upon Electra’s shaven head
Overcome with the sharp paradox of guilt and dread
Cloaked lamentation and tears strike sharp pains
Of everlasting regret that seeps through the veins
Moonlight reflects off the axe’s scarlet red blood
Spiraled rage softens to the tenderness of a daughter’s hidden love
Argive women sing songs of truth and justice
Repentance wipes clean a weighed down conscience
Together once again and together no more
Departing alongside the fate of the gods into a future offshore
An Original Design Collage by Sara Davis, Freshman click to the right to view
An Original Design Collage by Sara Davis, Freshman click to the right to view
Excerpts from my question list when visualizing the physical lives of the characters, by Lilly Schmeda, Junior, Assistant Director. Click to the right to read.
Please close your eyes and visualize your character.
Where is your youth?
Where do you keep your grief?
Where is their joy?
What flowers do you plant in your garden of grief?
Where do you keep your mother? Where do you hide your father?
Does your honor weigh heavy on your crown? Or in the bends of your knees?
Are your ancestors in your womb? Or do they whisper in your ear?
How heavy is your skull? What thoughts get stuck between the layers of flesh, rock, and blood?
Do you hide hate in your breasts? Or in the palms of your hands?
Are your palms caked in poverty and mud? Or do they drip with gold and tears?
How do you hold those you love?
ELECTRA Creative Response Story by Amal Ramadan, Senior click to the right to read
ELECTRA Creative Response Story by Amal Ramadan, Senior click to the right to read
If you attempt to find healing in ruin
to ignore your reality,
and to search deep inside yourself,
what would you leave behind?
To twist yourself into an exhausted rag,
Holding on so tightly,
Suffocating your own senses,
Any sense of identity should be long gone.
Left limp on the floor,
the damp cloth leaves no shape
Could you blame the young girl Electra,
Clinging to the ground for warmth?
When the excess warmth leads to rage,
What risks are you willing to take?
Collage on The Themes of Electra by Ella Ingold, Junior click to the right to view
Collage on The Themes of Electra by Ella Ingold, Junior click to the right to view
Apollo's Warning poem by Piper Lodato click to the right to read
Apollo's Warning poem by Piper Lodato click to the right to read
I watch her grow with her anger
I watch her grow with her grief
It was terrifying.
Electra
left alone with her mind.
Her father’s death clung to her as a child clung to their mother, as a virus clung to a person.
Desperate.
Lost.
The sight of his mangled body pressed itself into the dark of her mind,
exposed like light on film.
Fury coated her bones,
lifted her chin
sharpened her tongue as it did her eyes.
Her ire became shackles,
heavier than iron.
Weighed down with spite and agony.
From her rubble I planted a seed.
Her soul needed Orestes.
For comfort, for aid.
To pull her back from the ledge but then dive in after her.
Perhaps she did not want to take revenge so much as she wanted her pain to be understood.
It was a beautiful thing,
the destruction of her healing.
I always had a special appreciation for the beautiful.
What is beauty if not terror? Torture?
Electra’s unhealed heart spread to those around her like fire.
Her anguish reached with ancient, broken fingers to those close,
sticking to them like barnacles on ships.
Her rage was so real it was a memory rather than a thought.
As you cover your mother’s corpse,
and feel the triumph in your heart,
Electra,
know that your suffering has not ended.
Oresets and Electra digital drawing by Ren Flashner, Junior click to the right to view
Oresets and Electra digital drawing by Ren Flashner, Junior click to the right to view
"Forward!" she cried poem by Wayden Wagoner, Senior click to the right to read
"Forward!" she cried poem by Wayden Wagoner, Senior click to the right to read
“Forward!” she cried.
But what of mother?
How am I to take the life
of the one who gave me my own?
“Forward, still!” she repeated.
But what of the gods?
What punishment,
what furies shall they reign down upon
the foolish mortals who dare defy
their ancient laws?
“Forward, my brother!” she persisted.
But what of yourself, my dear sister?
Can you really be certain—
for our lives depend on it—
that this is truly the best course of action?
“Forward!”
“Forward!”
“Forward!”
Alright.
Fine.
I trust you, my blood, to guide me
righteously and with due conviction.
I trust the gods, that they may have mercy
on the brother and sister who, in seeking justice for their wronged father, may cross an unseen line.
I trust, with great sadness, that my mother’s sins are worthy
of my next unspeakable actions.
Apollo guide me.
To My Father, From Electra poem by Ryelie Kaye, Senior click to the right to read
To My Father, From Electra poem by Ryelie Kaye, Senior click to the right to read
I remember strong hands, war-like hands
Pacified by the touch of your tender children
As you cradled us in your arms.
The thump-thump of your heart,
Pace quickening when you held us near.
Your finely woven red robes
Billowing in the breeze as you chased us
Down the hill. The games we used to play!
And then your red robes
Ran away, your call to war, when we had only just begun
The game put to an end.
I missed you everyday. I missed you even though
We’d only just begun.
Ten years ten years ten years you were gone
And every night I went to the stream
Near the palace
Your little swan
Calling to you across the space between us
When mother sent me away, I had no idea
The war was won, that you were coming home!
When I returned
Your red-robed body massacred, blood where bubbles should be,
Orestes far away, Mother your shameful, lustful, wild
Murderer!
I was alone. I am alone.
Alone.
Original Collage in Resonse to Electra by Hanna Maes, Freshman click to the right to view
Original Collage in Resonse to Electra by Hanna Maes, Freshman click to the right to view
Slideshow of Imagery by Lilly Schmeda, Junior click to the right to view
Slideshow of Imagery by Lilly Schmeda, Junior click to the right to view
This is a slideshow, please click on the link
[Electra] Creative Response (Lilly Schmeda, Theatre Company)
Unfinished Girls drawing by Sarah Davis, Freshman click on the right to view
Unfinished Girls drawing by Sarah Davis, Freshman click on the right to view
I Am Wrath poem by Cates Asleson, Freshman click on the right to read
I Am Wrath poem by Cates Asleson, Freshman click on the right to read
I am wrath.
The shoe that silences the spider.
The threatening thoughts that tell you to be scared of the other.
I am fear.
The vultures that peck at Prometheus’s body.
The virtue of the gods, but the vice of humanity.
I am hatred.
The glint in an eye that glimpses the riveting fire of revenge.
The bones in a body that creak under the weight of the world.
I am pain.
The holes in the baskets of the Danaids.
The water that drips… drips… drips…forever.
I am loneliness.
The island of Aiaia where lives the longing witch.
Her lost loves, Glaucus, Telemachus, Odysseus.
I am heartbreak.
The turn of Orpheus’s head.
The lover lost to the land of the dead.
A part of life, a piece of the world
The balance to love on the scale of the spurned.
The child who dares stray from the beaten path.
I am wrath.
Kill Her poem by Eva Donahey, Freshman click on the right to read
Kill Her poem by Eva Donahey, Freshman click on the right to read
“Kill her” I cried to my dear blood, Orestes
He stutters
He hesitates
“Forward” I scream, staring in red at woman who killed my father
He follows through
Why did he follow through?
How did it feel, mom?
When the children, which you bore, betrayed you
When your own son continued on, through your pleas of help
You covered my eyes with the red blindfold of rage
I wish someone could have removed it
I wish
Now all I can feel is ...
Emptiness
Father of Loss poem by Mariana Ravelo, Junior click on the right to read
Father of Loss poem by Mariana Ravelo, Junior click on the right to read
My princess, my young mistress, where is she?
Where has gone? What has she learnt? Who has she hurt?
Black night! The nurse of all the golden stars
Black river, holds me as I fall apart
O,O I'll rip out my hair!
As the swan moans
by the streams of the river
and calls to the father it loved.
Bellows, echos;
a Christian calls to the he god fears
Humans are very lucky when they find healing in ruin
My mother was sweet, affable
though Clytemnestra bore me, that hateful child
No god is listening to my voice in my misfortune
What god would?
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