Life…

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Life is like a roller coaster.  There are always new people buying tickets, there are always people next in line, there are always those already in their seats, and there are always those who are exiting, after their ride is over.

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Fabulous book on Camille Claudel…

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Lunch hour…7

“I’ve been to your museum in Paris, on two separate occasions.  The second time was after they remodeled and it wasn’t as nice as the first time, although the garden is absolutely wonderful.”

“What was different?”

“Your sculptures were behind glass the second time.  The first time they were within touching distance and freely available to people.  Your work is incredible, filled with passion, beauty and power.  I used to have statues of The Kiss and The Thinker but my nephew came over and broke both of them because his mother didn’t care what he did.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.  It was a long time ago, they’re both dead now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that as well.”

“I’ve been reading a lot about you lately.  About you and about Camille Claudel, that is.”

“My beloved.”

“Yes, your beloved.  I know you tried to help her and I know that you knew she was brilliant but you never left the woman you were living with and look what happened to Camille. What a horror story that was.  Her talent, her life, erased by a jealous brother and mother.”

“She was so very beautiful and her talent, well, it was a match for mine.”

“Why did you stay with your so called wife?  You weren’t married to her, at least not until the end.  You ignored her and tortured her with your love affair, with Camille, and yet you stayed.”

Rodin shrugged.  “I wanted to leave…”

“Camille’s life would have been saved if you had made a different choice.”

“I did what I could.  Times were different.  Women had no place in the arts, except as models and doing small paintings, as hobbies.  Camille was a true sculptor, it was unheard of, except for dainty pieces of children or animals. Eventually, there were those who recognized her talent and they worked to help her get noticed, to make money, so she could eat and have shelter.  The world wouldn’t let women be seen. Even in your world it’s not that different.”

“You’re right, of course.  Things are better but not equal.”

“I adored her, she was my heart, my soul, my muse.  She made me better than I was and her beauty…she was extraordinary.”

“She was.  Her mind and body crushed and killed by her ugly family and by the ugly society in which she lived.”

“It breaks my heart, even now.”

“Mine too, if you want to know the truth.  Do you want to talk about Hugo?”

“Not really.  I only ever think about Camille and clay, bronze and stone.  The work, the love affair, my life was exciting, even though I had to constantly battle the art world with their rules, regulations and horrific expectations.  They had no vision, none at all. The people who ran things knew nothing about art, or artists. They were blind and in charge.  They made life impossible, at times.  Artists works for themselves, not to please people who can’t see, or feel anything.”

“I understand and I know how much time it took for you to fight them.  I wish things had been different, but people in power are often in power because they are abusive and love to have power over others.  People who don’t need those things, never seek power at all. That’s the way it works, and that’s why bad people are always in charge.”

Rodin nodded and wiped his brow.  “So you enjoyed my work?”

“I can’t tell you how much restraint I had to use, not to run my hand down the marble.  I kept saying to myself, ‘Don’t do it, don’t do it,’ over and over again.  I probably would have done it but there were guards everywhere just so people wouldn’t touch anything because the oil on our skin would eventually damage the marble.  The thing is, you shouldn’t have made such amazing things, if you didn’t want people to touch them.  I mean, they were begging to be petted, to be embraced, to be part of the living world.  And we wanted to do it. Really, wanted to do it, but we would have been forced to leave, if we had done so.”

“I’m crushed to hear that.  My work is for you, for the people.  I wanted the statues to bring out the passion in people, so they couldn’t help but touch them.”

“At least I got to see them.  Now they’re behind glass and the emotion is missing entirely. They are flat and airless and not part of the environment any longer.  I’m extremely happy that I got to see them the way they were meant to be seen.”

“Did you see some of Camille’s work as well.”

“A bit, yes.  She was wonderful.”

“I loved her.  Only her.  She was the beauty in my world.”

“I know.”

“She could be stubborn,” he laughed.  “She had a vision and no one could push her from her path.”

“You mean she was like you?” I said, smiling at him.

“Yes, we were one in the same, but she had to fight for everything.  She was angry and hurt.”

“She never loved anyone but you.”

He nodded.

Paris wasn’t ready for her.  The world wasn’t ready for her.  They never may be ready for women, especially women like Camille.”

“A waste,” he growled.

“Most definitely.  Imprisoned in a mental hospital against her will, without her art, for all those years.  I can’t think of anything worse.  I despise her family.”

“So do I.  We tried to get her out.  We filled out forms, we went to court, we did everything, but they refused.  Her brother hated her freedom and so did her mother.  They didn’t want her to get any money, after her father died.  They didn’t want her to be free, creative or important.  They hated her talent and willpower.”

“Family is often dangerous and filled with jealousy and hatred.”

“There was no love for her.  Not in her family.  None,” he said.

“This is silly but I’ve always felt a connection to you, even as a child.  I was born in August and you’re called Auguste, even if the pronunciation is different.  That was a big deal, to a little girl.  I told you it was silly.” she said, seeing him smile.  “But I was young and that was exciting to me.”

“How very kind of you,”he said softly.

“I still feel that way, you know.  Connected to you, to Camille as well.”

“Thank you.”

“The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” said Topaz.  “But I must get back to work.  I’m so happy you came for a visit.  When you see Camille, please tell her that a lot of us lover her. Tell her we are fighting, so that what happened to her won’t happen to other women.”

“I will tell her.”

 

Topaz blew him a kiss and he burst out laughing, just before he faded away.

 

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Grafitti…

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All of us…are bigger than we think

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Love…

love
is
a
funny
thing
so
many
people
want
it
some
don’t
realize
they
already
have
it
others
fear
it
and
still
others
have
no
idea
what
it
is
some
love
those
who
do
not
love
them
back
and
there
are
those
who
just
want
to
be
left
alone
and
not
bothered
with
all
the
things
that
come
with
love
some
love
cats
and
dogs
or
other
various
beings
and
spend
their
lives
happily
surrounded
by
fur
feathers
and
wet
noses
some
love
books
music
or
their
work
and
they
are
not
looking
for
anything
more
you
see
there
is
no
real
definition
of
love
and
there
is
no
right
way
to
love
it’s
all
about
finding
the
thing
that
fits
into
what
you
need
or
want
because
if
you
don’t
get
what
you
need
or
want
then
it’s
not
love
it’s
something
else
entirely
the
thing
to
remember
is
to
NEVER
SETTLE
for
less
than
you
want
because
when
you
find
the
right
love
you’ll
get
to
see
where
all
the
sparkles
live

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Street art…

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ShonEjal

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