Last month Anne and I viewed three separate Rodin exhibits in our travels up the East Coast. Each one raised a thousand questions about what moved this man to change the face (and torso, arms and legs) of sculpture at the dawn of the 20th century.
This week I've watched a process more fascinating than any exhibit.
Tomorrow my daughter Jen starts her fourth day of sitting for a sculpture under Christophe's hands in the soft light of our kitchen.
The rhythm of silent still work for Jen and small movements for Christophe, followed by brief breaks for pacing and cigarettes (his), checking email (hers) and following Christophe out to the porch each time (Smokie the Lab) has fallen on the house.
Each break is announced by the sound of the microwave oven fan running as the machine is used to soften clay. Rodin probably had students to do it for him, but the GE Spacemaker seems to be working quite well.
Each day is a marvel as a specific jawline or lip pout seems perfectly captured only to return in an entirely different, yet stronger, interpretation.
Jennine has always been a quiet, observant person. Being observed is not easy for her, especially as she learns how very hard it is to be still. Yet she remains unmoved as her left (clay) ear is severed and repositioned.
The bust has its own mimicking life. It requires constant mental and physical action from Christophe and the lack of either from Jen.
I can already see the eventual patina on the bronze after it's cast and the small, soft fingers of Jennine's grandchildren caressing the surface.
I don't think she'll tell them about how sore her tailbone felt or the number of times they played through a stack of U-2 CDs during the sittings.
But she can show them the value of stillness.
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