Studio: international art (13.1898)

Auguste Rodin

upon me again. Such abundance of life, such d'ltalie, Rodin has fixed the studio in question. I
vigour, such movement, such power of workman- say studio, but it would be more accurate to call it a
ship is in this work, one cannot choose but feel sort of depot for his unfinished productions. To
some agitation in seeing it ; and in order to form a a ceaseless worker like Rodin, who is never idle
sound opinion respecting Rodin's art generally, one for a moment, but ever manipulating pieces of
must do more than judge by isolated examples of clay with his busy fingers, just like an inveterate
his work, however fine. One must see it in its smoker constantly rolling cigarettes, there comes
intimity observe it in course of production. many an idea which cannot immediately be

Rodin was kind enough one day to show me realised, if at all ; consequently one finds here an
over a studio he has at the other end of Paris on abundance of unfinished work, numerous studies
the Barriere d'ltalie side. Here we find ourselves of immense interest and value, but destined nevei
among the old houses of the last century, real to be more than incomplete "bits." The ground
country villas of tasteful design once enclosed in floor of the house is full of them. I spent several
spacious gardens, but now, in the overgrown Paris delightful hours examining these first "sketches,"
of to-day, boasting nothing more than small back- representing a leg or an arm, a torso or a hand, a
yards. In a house of this sort, on the Boulevard note of a gesture, an indication of a movement.

This is real life, seized in
all its spontaneity, with-
out touching-up or elabo-
ration, and handled with
masterly sureness.

Having seen all this
one must needs admire the
artist's work unreservedly,
for its secrets, its intimity
have been revealed, and
one can realise to the full
his artistic sincerity and
honesty of purpose. His
work is simply prodigious
in its exuberant vitality ;
and to the glorious names
of the three greatest
French sculptors of the
century- -Rude, Preault,
and Carpeaux — must
surely be added that of
Rodin. For he is of the
same family, the same
race, as the master sculp-
tors of all the ages. People
have often compared him
to Michael Angelo. They
have been right and wrong
at the same time. It is
not for the contempo-
raries of a great man to
" place" him with such
precision as this ; and, in-
deed, there is a certain
sort of eulogy which harms
rather than benefits an
artist, however famous he

busi op julbs dalou Hv augustb rodin be. What I mean is this;

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