Auguste Rodin
The Royal Poincianas is in full blazing crimson bloom and as I peer over my chipped porcelain teacup inhaling its dark aroma, the conversation starts. It is a monologue that drifts over the static channels of more than a century but when he speaks his beard moves like a stiff red thatch roof. Barely two inches taller than me we both must look at each other through a fog not because of the curtain of time but more so of our weak eyes. At times the unavoidable curse of a sculptor that works many hours in low light bent over and transfixed on the material in their hands.
His hands, once called une main d’une prodigieuse vitesse – are moving restlessly when he speaks about how the power of observation should always be practiced. Look at an object and fix that image in your mind and try to retain its memory as long as possible before you sketch it. When you are carving your object never see the form in length but that of its width, a surface is always the extremity of the volume. He will lean forward in his chair to make his point very clear that it is all about the projection of the interior volumes. In each swelling of the torso or the limbs a suggestion of outward thrust is made by a muscle or a bone that is buried deep under the skin. Oh and for god sakes do not brood over your failures to long for there is not much time, an intense nervous excitement should always drive you back into the studio and into your work but there is no need to hurry.
Okay wait a minute, what do you mean I have to work with nervous excitement with fast hands but still take it easy, which one is it? His fingers is now rolling a piece of clay absentmindedly between his fingers and slowly utters that a sculptor should be wild about working, getting up early, sketch non stop, study the masters, never be distracted for so much as a minute! But you always have time to make a beginning once you are sure of your subject, a sculptor can establish his or her reputation with a single piece of sculpture.
A silence fell between us that become filled with the songs of the cicadas, both lost in thought. I asked him if he will come back tomorrow?
| FROM MY READING LIST: *Grunfeld V. Frederic, “Rodin. A Biography” Henry Holt. 1987. *Rodin, A “Rodin on Art and Artists” Dover Publications. 1983. |
