Wednesday, May 22, 2013


Yesterday I sat down to officially begin writing my Masters thesis, and instead I came up with a topic for a PhD thesis. I don't even know if I'll be able to do a PhD in the near future. Sigh. Also, I can't seem to come up with a first sentence other than "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...", so the writing has come to an abrupt halt before it even began. I keep kicking around this idea in my head that I'd prefer to curate an exhibit on various designers' takes on Sulpicia: who they think she is, if she's a he, how would he dress to perform the poetry, etc. Of course, though my program is pretty awesome in that I can take any course I want and take a totally interdisciplinary approach to my topic, I do not think it allows for a creative project such as a costume exhibit. Also, I doubt anyone outside of those I've talked to about my thesis and the select few that also write about her know who Sulpicia is (warning: don't believe everything Wikipedia tells you). Aside from those two obstacles, such a project would be so much fun! If anyone is interested in sketching/sewing something up based on a few poems that may or may not be written by someone who may or may not have existed 2000 years ago, let me know and we can put something together here to post. In the meantime, here is a poem (by Sulpicia or 'Sulpicia', translated by me), as well as some looks by Portuguese designer Lara Torres, looks which represent what's going on in my head in various largely unexplainable ways.

At last love has come, of such a kind that the reputation of having hidden it 
   would be more a cause for shame to me than would that of having laid it bare to someone. 
Venus, having been won over by my Muses, 
   has brought him and deposited him into my lap. 
Venus has fulfilled her promises: let one recount my joys,  
   if someone is said to have not had his own. 
I do not wish to entrust anything to stamped pages, 
   so that no one reads me before my love,  
but it delights me to make a slip of the tongue, it irks me to put on false 
   appearances of tradition: may I be reported worthy to have been with a worthy man. 

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