Before beginning the review of the Rodin exhibit I should preface it with some comments. First, I live in Winnipeg, which is artistically backwatered to say the least and so I am not so blessed as to enjoy the masters on a regular basis (the closest I could hope for is in Chicago, NY, or possibly, Toronto and Montreal). So all comments to follow should allow for naivity and ignorance on my part since some of what I speak of I have never seen in person. Second, as far as solo shows go, this was quite good, though many originals were not there because they are too big, or because as is Rodin's custom he allowed for a maximum 12 casts, so for some works there is no real "original". He also blew up, shrunk and otherwise reused his own art. I do not mean to suggest the whole genius of Rodin was on display. I just really like his stuff. Finally, what follows is going to be quite pedantic. Unfortunately, the comments, associations and comparisons come naturally, and I am not trying to sound any smarter than I actually am 
Rodin, the Winnipeg Art Gallery, October 8 2006
The first thought I had when I entered the gallery was: poetry. In the 20th century there have been some memorable poems that been written in homage to certain works or bodies of art: there is "Musee des beaux Art" by Auden, "In Goya's Greatest Scenes We Seem to See" by Ferlinghetti, and (to name a Canadian) "El Greco-Espolio" by Birney. Other works have seemed to me also worthy of such treatment such as the famous photograph by Capa "Death of a Spanish Loyalist", and "Radeau de la Meduse" by Gericault (which is as moving as anything Goya ever did).
That Rodin's body of work let alone his materpieces are worth of poetry is undeniable once you experience it. In his greatest scenes we too seem to see " the people of the world exactly at the moment when they first attained the title of 'suffering humanity". No single sculpter since Michelangelo so captured the maddening life and spirit of all that is human. Some favourites.
Consider Rodin's 'The Age of Bronze' his first major work of which the original was present. One cannot help think of Michelangelo's 'David', as the only reasonable comparison, which makes perfect sense when one thinks that it was he who Rodin walked from France to Florence to study at the stone fett of (interestingly, like Capa, the first reaction to Rodin's first majory work was to deny it was authentic). Here is all the stolid beauty and determination of youth and glory.
Of 'the Kiss', I can only say that it epitemizes Rodin's ability to display the romantic and the erotic that is also on display in his 'Forbiden Love' (title?) and 'Romeo and Juliet'. However, the Kiss is by far his most supreme tribute to the heart. Something about how the female nude reaches up to her lover, instigating the contact, and he reacting, has only just started to embrace her, his right hand only barely touching her left thigh. It is love at the exact moment when ones heart is recipricated--stunned by the revelation, there is joy, surprise and we see all that is need and desire radiating from their dark skin. To have loved, and see this scuplter, is to love again.
Finally, 'The Thinker'. Originally Dante at the top of his 'The Gates of Hell'(someday I will see you!!!) he caste it seperately several times. No sculptur has so ingrained itself on the modern psyche as this one. In this work more than any other it is as though in pure expression he burst his hot hearts shell upon it (to paraphrase Melville). Dante, Rodin, ourselves: all found within the brooding brow of this indominable figure weighed down by the gravity of his thoughts: in his determined face is that inside us that observes all the bitter joys and sweet melancholies of human life. What greater Adam, what greated dawn of man, than this figure wrapped in the conteplation of his existence. No other work has ever spoken to me at such a personal level (with possibly the exception of Rembrandt's 'Philosopher Reading'). It is the ultimate manifestation of the human condition.
I have thought over the last two days about how to best sum up the impression Rodin's work left on me now that I have finally seen some of it. I wish I could have written a poem, but it was too much: this is the the best I could come up with. This is humanity in the raw. What Michelangelo stripped to the flesh, Rodin stripped to the bone.
Rodin, the Winnipeg Art Gallery, October 8 2006
The first thought I had when I entered the gallery was: poetry. In the 20th century there have been some memorable poems that been written in homage to certain works or bodies of art: there is "Musee des beaux Art" by Auden, "In Goya's Greatest Scenes We Seem to See" by Ferlinghetti, and (to name a Canadian) "El Greco-Espolio" by Birney. Other works have seemed to me also worthy of such treatment such as the famous photograph by Capa "Death of a Spanish Loyalist", and "Radeau de la Meduse" by Gericault (which is as moving as anything Goya ever did).
That Rodin's body of work let alone his materpieces are worth of poetry is undeniable once you experience it. In his greatest scenes we too seem to see " the people of the world exactly at the moment when they first attained the title of 'suffering humanity". No single sculpter since Michelangelo so captured the maddening life and spirit of all that is human. Some favourites.
Consider Rodin's 'The Age of Bronze' his first major work of which the original was present. One cannot help think of Michelangelo's 'David', as the only reasonable comparison, which makes perfect sense when one thinks that it was he who Rodin walked from France to Florence to study at the stone fett of (interestingly, like Capa, the first reaction to Rodin's first majory work was to deny it was authentic). Here is all the stolid beauty and determination of youth and glory.
Of 'the Kiss', I can only say that it epitemizes Rodin's ability to display the romantic and the erotic that is also on display in his 'Forbiden Love' (title?) and 'Romeo and Juliet'. However, the Kiss is by far his most supreme tribute to the heart. Something about how the female nude reaches up to her lover, instigating the contact, and he reacting, has only just started to embrace her, his right hand only barely touching her left thigh. It is love at the exact moment when ones heart is recipricated--stunned by the revelation, there is joy, surprise and we see all that is need and desire radiating from their dark skin. To have loved, and see this scuplter, is to love again.
Finally, 'The Thinker'. Originally Dante at the top of his 'The Gates of Hell'(someday I will see you!!!) he caste it seperately several times. No sculptur has so ingrained itself on the modern psyche as this one. In this work more than any other it is as though in pure expression he burst his hot hearts shell upon it (to paraphrase Melville). Dante, Rodin, ourselves: all found within the brooding brow of this indominable figure weighed down by the gravity of his thoughts: in his determined face is that inside us that observes all the bitter joys and sweet melancholies of human life. What greater Adam, what greated dawn of man, than this figure wrapped in the conteplation of his existence. No other work has ever spoken to me at such a personal level (with possibly the exception of Rembrandt's 'Philosopher Reading'). It is the ultimate manifestation of the human condition.
I have thought over the last two days about how to best sum up the impression Rodin's work left on me now that I have finally seen some of it. I wish I could have written a poem, but it was too much: this is the the best I could come up with. This is humanity in the raw. What Michelangelo stripped to the flesh, Rodin stripped to the bone.