Sculpture has long been a passion of mine. Somehow when creativity is captured and represented in three dimensions, rather than two, it becomes ever more magical.
My son Harry and I had the great pleasure to wander around the empty halls of the Tate Modern last week surrounded by the evocative and moving sculptures of Auguste Rodin. At times it was as though we were in Rodin’s chaotic studio, immersed in his experimental world of plaster casts and clay. It was fascinating and arresting in equal measures with abstract body parts and repetitive forms before us. The sum of many parts; be it hands or noses making a whole, imbibed with raw emotion. Robin was a master of theatre, exaggerating power, tragedy and wisdom with his expressive bodily lines and forms.
Explaining to an eagle eyed 12 year old how Rodin achieved greatness and what set him apart was an interesting proposition. Was he ahead of his time or very much part of the artistic Milieu of the day?
Surrounded as we were by a unique collection from the Musee Rodin it was as close as we were going to get to Paris for the time being. It was easy to witness his diligence and dedication to his craft. Practice makes perfect I could hear myself say! We gazed at Rodin’s clever processes as he merged contorted, grotesque anatomical studies alongside beautiful, elegant models. The physiognomy in plain sight even to young fresh eyes. This story told through the mastery of Auguste Rodin hands was eloquent and mesmerising. The expressiveness of his genius and creativity became clear to us both and we loved the ride.
Punch drunk with artistic intoxication we rested for a coffee and coke at the balcony cafe. Looking back towards St. Paul’s I pointed out all the City’s church spires, the making of a different brand of genius. Straining our eyes I guided Harrys viewpoint through the modern metropolis to Queen Victoria Street and where it all began….