Touch. To touch and not to touch. Please don't touch me while I touch you. As I was going through my pictures of my time in Washington DC, I found some shots that I hadn't edited yet and simply wanted to post for those who would appreciate them. The raw humanity of torment captured in these faces conflicted with the sounds of laughing children in the background. The story of the Burghers of Calais that Auguste Rodin captured in Bronze has moved me for sometime. To see this version and the other in Paris, is a treasured memory for me. I know that Rodin is quite possibly most remembered for "The Thinker", but for me, "The Burghers of Calais" whispers something new with each viewing.
There are many reasons artists 'go into' art. One artist has mentioned that perhaps this is the only compensation received. In troubled times, I beg to differ, after all, with art, when applied to any vocation, that imaginative touch becomes something more. A skilled hand only remains so if there is life in its utilization. As with anything that is not used, it withers away into oblivion.
In viewing Emile-Antoine Bourdelle's "The Great Warrior of Montauban", I have wondered if it was only the physique that was called great. A raised sword, an outstretched arm, surely is this not greatness? However, destruction of life is easier than preserving life. Death is easy my friend, living is where the challenge is. Where is his foe? Whom is he protecting? But that is art, that essence that makes you mentally explore the pieces that are rendered. And when each person has the opportunity to do that instead of having it told to them, they find their truth as to what makes art real in a world of illusion. You are free to be touched by the work only if you allow them to touch you.
No comments:
Post a Comment