I don’t know who she is, and I suppose she’s quite pretty, but she’s got to do something about that skull. Maybe wear a hat. Maybe wear a scalp. I don’t know. The entire thing seems like some sort of grotesque accident, like she fell and hit her head on a giant wine glass or something, and now she shuns all broken glassware. “Oh broken wineglass, thou mockery of the head I now possesseth, get thee behind me! Fie on you!”
She’s got a sort of “Greek Goddess of Botched Cranial Procedures” thing happening. And it works for her. The flowing over-the-shoulder cape lends a “devil may care, la, sir” tone, it’s quite the ensemble.
But there is nothing, nay, nothing, that accessorizes with an exposed skull.
Maaaybe it’s not skull. Maybe it’s actually a weird exposed brain. The purple robe, suddenly it fits–she’s the queen of one of those “Mars Attacks” style alien empires, the ones where a race is so advanced that they no longer need to worry about protecting their meninges. Works great, until you’re, like, under a tree filled with pigeons or something.
Is there the smallest chance that I’m misinterpreting, and instead she’s got a head full of foam? Sort of a surrealist whipped dessert, “Give me a light froth of whipped cream, delicately flavored with vanilla and lavender, served in a tall, voluptuous goddess in a purple toga?” Possibly. Serves six, but only two of them will actually understand.
Goodwill on Stassney and Manchacha, Austin