Author: Stephanie Chatfield

  • Updates, and a Christmas ghost story on the horizon!

    Updates, and a Christmas ghost story on the horizon!

    Recent updates & new additions on Guggums

    Here’s what’s been newly added or freshly updated around the site:

    Ophelia in Culturea guide to her artistic, literary, and modern afterlives. If you ever want one place to wander through all things Ophelia that Guggums has to offer (without having to hunt), this is your path.

    Two new Ophelia essays:
    Ophelia as a Symbol of Emotional Depth in the 21st Century
    A look at the way Ophelia has been reclaimed, not only as tragedy, but as a language for tenderness, overwhelm, and the brave act of feeling deeply in a fast world.
    The Ophelia Aesthetic: Why She Haunts Us
    Water, flowers, softness, sorrow, and the strange beauty of being undone. This is about the moodboard version of Ophelia, yes, but also what it’s really trying to say underneath the surface.

    I also added a digital color palette pulled from Edward Burne-Jones’ Music: garnet velvet, warm violin browns, misty stone grays, mossy greens, and midnight blue.

    For parents and anyone meeting Shakespeare for the first time
    And if you’re sharing Shakespeare at home (or simply revisiting him with a softer approach), I added two guides

    :How To Introduce Your Kids to Hamlet
    How to Talk to Kids About Ophelia
    No pressure, no perfection. Just practical, kind ways to help young readers meet big stories without fear.

      If it’s been a while, here are a few gentle ways back in:

      A Christmas Day ghost story is coming

      Because it’s December. And because some part of me will always believe Victorian winter is the best season for a shiver.

      Following an age old British tradition of a ghost story for Christmas:

      Christmas Day, I’ll share a ghost story about Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Elizabeth Siddal. The setting? The first Christmas of their married life.

      It’s called:

      “The Laugh in the Stairwell”

      A Christmas Day visit. A small dog with excellent instincts, a poet who brings laughter with him. And something not quite friendly that lingers in the passage.

      Thank you for reading (and for being here)

      Please subscribe to the Guggums newsletter to receive updates and extra content! It is strictly non commercial, no sales or marketing.

      Guggums is growing in the way I love best: not louder, but deeper. More connecting threads. rooms to wander into, posts that feel like a lamp left on in a window.

      If you’re subscribed to the newsletter, thank you for letting me show up in your inbox. If you’re new here, welcome! Pull up a chair.

      And on Christmas Day: mind the stairwell.

      Merry Christmas from Guggums!

      xo
      Stephanie Chatfield

    • On Being Seen (and Misunderstood)

      On Being Seen (and Misunderstood)

      We all know what it feels like when someone looks at us but fails to truly see us. The rush to interpret, to categorize, to narrate each other’s intentions creates a distance that doesn’t have much to do with reality, but everything to do with projection. And when someone misreads you, when their invented story becomes louder than your actual one, there can be a sting that catches you off guard.

      Misunderstanding can feel like an erasure.

      I think the Pre-Raphaelites understood this tension. The world saw Elizabeth Siddal‘s face, her hair, even her posture captured endlessly. She was frequently reshaped her into symbols, ideals, and myths. A drowning woman, a tragic muse, an emblem of beauty tinged with sorrow. But these images were never the whole truth. They were reflections of the people who painted her, not the woman herself.

      Siddal addressed this in her poem Lust of the Eyes

      The Lust of the Eyes
      Elizabeth Siddal

      I care not for my Lady’s soul
      Though I worship before her smile;
      I care not where be my Lady’s goal
      When her beauty shall lose its wile.
      Low sit I down at my Lady’s feet
      Gazing through her wild eyes
      Smiling to think how my love will fleet
      When their starlike beauty dies.
      I care not if my Lady pray
      To our Father which is in Heaven
      But for joy my heart’s quick pulses play
      For to me her love is given.
      Then who shall close my Lady’s eyes
      And who shall fold her hands?
      Will any hearken if she cries
      Up to the unknown lands?

      Sometimes I think about that when modern life becomes loud, when people on social media decide who you are before knowing anything at all. It’s comforting, in a way, to realize we are not the first humans to face this. The misunderstanding is old; the ache is familiar.

      But there’s another side to this story, one that feels gentler, more hopeful. 

      The ones who pause.

      Who take time to ask.

      Those who listen without sharpening their claws.

      When someone truly sees your intentions, your humor, your hopes, your contradictions, you can feel as if you are welcomed home. 

      That’s the kind of seeing I want to practice more intentionally.

      The soft kind. The curious kind. The kind that assumes complexity rather than malice.

      The kind that remembers every person carries a thousand unspoken things.

      You are not failing when others misunderstand you.

      But when even a few people truly see you, they help make the rest bearable.

      And maybe that’s all we can ask of each other, to try a little harder to see the person, not the projection.


      Leave room for nuance.

      Offer the kind of attention that feels like light and warmth rather than a searchlight.

      Seen, even imperfectly, but not mistaken for someone we never were.

    • Color Palette: Burne-Jones’ Music

      Color Palette: Burne-Jones’ Music

      See the standing figure in crimson? She feels like a held note to me; still and focused. While the seated figure reads the sheet music as if her thoughts are blending with each note. Behind them, the landscape recedes into that dreamy, Italianate distance Burne-Jones loved: not quite a real place, more like a mind’s “elsewhere,” where art and feeling get to linger.

      Visiting Music at the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford.
      Ashmolean Museum

      This painting lives at the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford (oil on canvas), and it has that distinct Burne-Jones hush: beauty that isn’t trying to dazzle, just to enchant, slowly, the way a melody does when you finally stop hurrying.

      Burne-Jones Music Color Palette

      I’ve created a color palette based on Music, feel free to use it if it resonates with you.

      HEX codes didn’t exist in the Pre-Raphaelites’ era, of course, but translating their hues into a digital palette is a strangely satisfying way to carry their colors into the modern world.

      This palette feels like music wrapped in velvet. It’s rich, hushed, and quietly dramatic.

      The garnet red(7F1224) is the painting’s heartbeat (that sweeping dress), grounded by warm, woody brown (784430) like the violin’s body and carved stone details. Around them, Burne-Jones cools everything down with misty greys (888E8B, B6BCBB) in the sky, marble, and distant light, then deepens the mood with mossy olive (4A4A3C) and midnight indigo (252A40), the shadow notes that make the whole scene feel intimate, contemplative, and Renaissance dreamlike.

    • How to Talk to Your Kids About Ophelia

      How to Talk to Your Kids About Ophelia

      Helping young hearts explore beauty, emotion, and empathy through art

      When children first encounter John Everett Millais’s Ophelia, they often react with wonder. The flowers, the colors, the soft light filtering through leaves… it looks like a scene from a fairy tale. But parents know the painting carries difficult themes beneath its beauty.

      And yet, that’s what makes Ophelia such a powerful introduction to talking with kids about art, feelings, and stories.

      You don’t have to hide Ophelia away until they’re older.
      You just need to approach it gently.

      This is a guide to help you navigate those conversations with honesty, softness, and the kind of emotional wisdom Victorian art invites.

      Start With What Kids Naturally Notice

      Before you explain anything, let your child look.

      Ask:

      • “What’s the first thing you notice?”
      • “What colors do you see?”
      • “How do you think she feels?”
      • “Where do you think she is?”

      Kids often point out:

      • the flowers
      • the dress
      • the river
      • the expression

      Let their curiosity lead the way.

      Focus on the Art Before the Tragedy

      You don’t need to begin with Shakespeare’s darker plot.

      Talk about:

      • the beauty of nature
      • how Millais painted outdoors
      • how carefully he studied each flower
      • how Victorian artists used symbolism
      • how the painting looks serene at first glance

      This sets the emotional tone as peaceful, not frightening.

      Millais Ophelia
      Elizabeth Siddal as Ophelia

      When They Ask About the Story, Keep It Age Appropriate

      Kids almost always ask:

      “Why is she in the water?”

      Here are gentle, truthful ways to answer based on age.

      Ages 4–6 (very simple):

      “Ophelia is a character from a story. She’s floating in a river and daydreaming. The artist painted her in a very magical, peaceful moment.”

      Ages 7–10 (soft honesty):

      “Ophelia is feeling very sad in her story. The artist painted the moment she goes into the water. The painting doesn’t show everything; it’s more like a beautiful picture of a difficult feeling.”

      Ages 11–13 (more detail, still tender):

      “Ophelia has a hard time in her story, and this painting shows the moment her feelings become too heavy. Some people see it as dreamy, and others see it as sad. Art helps us talk about feelings we don’t always have words for.”

      You don’t need to give the entire Shakespearean plot unless your child asks.

      Talk About Feelings, Not Just History

      Shakespeare’s Hamlet is about grief, confusion, loss, and love, all emotions kids understand more deeply than we sometimes assume.

      Ask:

      • “What do you think Ophelia might be feeling?”
      • “Have you ever had a day that felt heavy?”
      • “What do the flowers tell us about her mood?”
      • “Does the picture feel calm or sad to you?”

      Children are surprisingly empathetic viewers.
      They read faces, colors, and moods instinctively.

      Let this be an entry point to deeper emotional conversations.

      detail of Ophelia's flowers

      Discuss the Symbolism in a Kid Friendly Way

      Victorian artists loved symbolic flowers.
      Kids love discovering hidden meanings.

      Some ways to phrase it gently:

      • “This flower means friendship.”
      • “This one means love.”
      • “This one means remembering someone.”
      • “Artists used flowers as a kind of secret code.”

      Suddenly, the painting becomes a treasure hunt.

      Use Ophelia to Encourage Creative Expression

      Art about emotion can inspire art about emotion.

      Try:

      • Drawing Ophelia with a different feeling
      • Drawing the river full of imaginary flowers
      • Writing a tiny poem about floating in water
      • Creating an “Ophelia color palette”
      • Making your own symbolic flower bouquet

      These activities turn a difficult story into a creative outlet.

      Reassure Without Dismissing

      If your child feels sad seeing the painting, say:

      • “It’s okay to feel sad. This painting makes many people feel that way.”
      • “Some art shows happy moments, some show difficult ones.”
      • “Ophelia’s story helps us understand empathy.”

      The goal is not to remove the emotion, it’s to help them hold it safely.

      Study Ophelia
      Study of Elizabeth Siddal as Ophelia, Sir John Everett Millais

      Emphasize That Art Helps Us Talk About Hard Things

      This is the real gift of Ophelia.

      It lets children:

      • explore feelings
      • ask questions
      • understand empathy
      • discover that beauty and sadness can coexist

      Victorian art, especially Pre-Raphaelite art, gives kids a safe visual space for emotional literacy.

      Talking to your children about Ophelia isn’t about exposing them to tragedy. It’s about teaching them to look closely, ask questions, trust their feelings, and see art as a companion through life.

      Ophelia’s story isn’t just about sorrow.
      It’s about noticing beauty, understanding emotion, and remembering that every person, real or fictional, has an inner world worth exploring.