someone’s kiss that will satisfy
me I will bite another person’s lips with my teeth
and the most beautiful will always be you
---Rodan and Camille
My little Paul:
You come at the end of May Look at me, I want you to promise not to ignore me that much. The lunatic asylum just imposes pain on people, so that people cannot escape, and there is nowhere to escape. Especially if no one comes to see you. They wanted to force me to engage in sculpture here, and they tried their best to trouble me if they didn't succeed. Don't forget, Paul, your sister and the mad woman are in jail. Mom wrote to the doctor that I deliberately wanted to hurt you, that I hated you and wanted to go out and hurt you. This is not true. I hope she will take me to the new town. Do you think I want to be like this? Spent many months, many years. . . No friends, no news, no hope? Where did this violent behavior come from? What methods did they use to make you change so much? I really want to know. You might as well send me to Siberia. Do you take care of my things? Are all my things in Newtown? Be careful not to let these things fall into Rodin's hands. He was so scared that I would go back, which is why he kept me here. Are you right, Paul? I really want to go home and close the door tightly. I don't know if I can understand that this is a dream. . . go home. God, I wish I was in the new town.
Paul, I often think of what happened between me and you here. I was severely scolded by my mother because I went out to find mud and did not return all night. She said that it affected your studies because of looking for me. She also said that I had read you a collection of poems by Rempol that was not suitable for your age. We lie in bed and talk about sculpture and literature, Michelangelo and Victor Hugo. You were really a young barbarian then. At that time, we were all so too young. I didn't want to stay in the art academy and be bound by the rules. Instead, I followed Rodin's words, went to his studio and marble warehouse to select materials, voluntarily surrendered under his mask of talent and wanton and ignored his hypocrisy and cowardice. But, my dear Paul, you haven't seen the marble material delivered from Greece, so crisp and powerful. My steps on the way home have never been so brisk. I can use these stones to carve the greatest works in the world. Do you believe me, Paul? I want to carve a foot, and then let Rodin sign his name on it. Then I can become his student.
Paul, I did think so at the beginning. They said that Rodin had sex with all the female models that he had worked with, but I think I will be able to create amazing works that are unparalleled in the world with him. He always calls me Claude Girl. I am his goddess and the only source of all his creative inspiration. I know this deeply. I knew it when he asked me to stand between the two white Adam statues. . How arrogant and happy I was at that time, even though the carving knife digs smoke-like dust on the hard stone and covered my blue eyes, my hands became rough and even shed blood. I still heard the banging resonance deep in my heart while rubbing the stones and mud, and they got life in my hands. Paul, can you see the lines flowing in the stones and dirt? It's like the lines flowing in Victor Hugo's text. I think you will understand my madness, just as I know you in the past.
Paul, Rodin built a new studio for me after visiting our home. I became his mistress and created "Citizens of Calais", "Hell's Gate" and "Contemplation" with him. He is so good at using public relations and government to build momentum. His reputation has become more and more prominent. And I did not have my own independent works in this period. It is always a slightly known shadow behind him. But I feel more and more strange to him. He talked happily with local officials and dignitaries from all walks of life who didn't understand sculpture at all, in order to get a large number of government orders and hold exhibitions in high-end salons. I also gradually understood that he could never marry me, he would never leave his Rose, his dear poor woman who threatened and hurt me by force. I sculpted his head from memory in my crazy thoughts, just like all his students would carve his head, but I am the best one of them. I have become a real master, just like a man. He is therefore jealous, afraid, afraid that he will no longer be able to control me, afraid that my talent has surpassed and will cover his brilliance. This shameful man called his wife Rose an old accessory, calling him and me super vulgar and natural. Paul, what a ridiculous word. If he could, he would leave her, but he could not. he can not. At that time I finally understood that he would not leave her, so I was the only one to leave. I used to work so hard for him, now I have to work for myself.
Paul, they all said I was crazy. I buried myself in a dark and damp corner because I was afraid to see those people. Paul, have you put away all those collections of poems and no longer read them? I heard my father said that you had returned to Paris once, why didn't you come to see your poor sister? Has your God guided you to become a member of the upper class? From the age of seventeen, I have been with Rodin for fifteen years and have had a baby. I bloomed all the vitality and dazzling splendor of my life by his side, so that he re-emerged in his middle age. Creative power, but I gradually withered in hysteria and mania.
After leaving Rodin, as an independent sculptor, Mr. Brow became my agent to plan everything for me. Guess what kind of rumors I heard that made me crazy? He still tried to control me--Miss Claude, Rodin's student, she picked up the fragments that were carved on the ground for Rodin and filled them into her sculptures--but I have won the right to make my own work. He actually called himself a professional sculptor. He just ran three studios and asked people to engage in public relations instead of touching the mud with his own hands. The workers went to hammer the marble and he only had to do the finishing work. This is what he calls art? I absolutely cannot agree. He is only for his personal benefit, he is a sculptor, not a sculpture. However, all terrible things are no stranger to me. I have given everything, my youth, my works, my everything. I wish I had never met Rodin.
Paul, they all said I was crazy. I just have too much pain and there is no way to vent, and I cannot accept compromise. I sold all the furniture, and I no longer need these external objects. You should know that I am the old woman, but not her body. In that age, the young girl is also me, and the man is also me, not you. I gave him all my rough personality, and he gave me my emptiness in exchange. In this way, there are three selves, the empty Trinity. I wiped my blushing rouge and went to see the agent. I had agreed that my work would be exhibited at the 1900 World Exposition, but now it has been acquired by the government. I truly believe that this is Rodin's conspiracy. All of this was designed by him. I am on the verge of collapse.
All this is like a blunt instrument full of green rust inserted into my chest, I live on the darkest edge, no one can understand what happened, they can't understand. They said I copied Rodin's work, but I was more talented than Rodin, it was Rodin who copied my work! I am the real sculptor, I am! I snarled and snarled frantically, I burned the check that the agent gave me to ashes, and no one could stop me from making another sculpture. I want to avenge him on all this. I smashed the window glass of Rodin’s house in the middle of the night. I shouted his name hoarsely downstairs. I wanted him to come out and meet with me. I sprinkled rubbish on the stairs of his house. I wanted him to leave the house. Go through this pile of rubbish. He would just hide in the room and cover his ears in pain, not daring to listen to my voice, and watched me be taken away. He is a coward. Absolute coward.
Paul, when I saw my father for the last time, I was in great pain. He showed me your photos in Fuzhou, China. I shed tears. How much I want to go to China with you. My father always defended me like that, even if he had a dispute with my mother for this reason, he always cared more about me than he cared about you, but I was so disappointed in him. He is very guilty of you. At that time, my eyes were still dark blue, but my hair and clothes were messed up. I'm so ashamed, I'm so ashamed, I can't listen to my father anymore. I can only keep crying. You have found God and have a close relationship with him, but what have I gained? My father was extremely disappointed in me. But until next year's salon exhibition, I will complete a large-scale portrait of the three groups. You see, it doesn't look like Rodin anymore. I never told you what I was thinking. But you are the only one I want to reveal to others.
Paul, they all said I was crazy. My hair is scattered and my eyes are muddy, hiding in a dark room flooded with groundwater to avoid people. Rodin wanted to play me to death. I rejected the order for ten Rodin busts. I rejected the official invitation to go to Prague with him. I sent cat dung to the Minister of Culture and accused Rodin of stealing the Mona Lisa. They say these pathological pranks are too ridiculous and boring. But I am afraid, I am afraid. But all day and night, those who disturbed me and those who were disturbed by me, they refused to forgive me for being so talented. The agent, Mr. Bro, is going to hold a solo exhibition for me in the salon. He said that my work has been so great that people don't understand. You are here too, Paul. I was dressed like a circus clown, painted red and green, I applauded enthusiastically for your speech, I danced in the crowd, I walked around holding those statues. Paul, they all said I was crazy, don't you think so too? I have seen the shame and hesitation in your eyes, my sister has embarrassed you, hasn't it? You left without even saying hello to me. My dear Paul.
I smashed all my works, including the foot that Rodin had signed, and I threw it into the river. Now I am fighting alone with Rodin's group. I am like a weak leaf in a violent storm. When my mother came to take me to the lunatic asylum in 1913, she wept bitterly and said that I was so arrogant, like a concubine, and now she has lost the face of the whole family. She sent me to the lunatic asylum, but she still loved me as much as ever.
The doctor is announcing my illness and the final decision to be put in a lunatic asylum. Dear Paul, what do you think of through that wooden slatted door. Your sister can't accomplish anything, all the natural talents only bring her all the unpleasant things. My mother signed the name, and you watched me being taken into the car. All this is too unreal, isn't it? Perhaps I have already entered the gate of hell, I have left my family and hometown, and will stay in this lunatic asylum for thirty years until I die. Let the glory of the world illuminate Rodin's life without me, I don't care about it at all. My fierceness destroyed everything in me. The deepest damp haze hides a heart of fright and sadness, burying all unruly, only the muddy hands that are no longer powerful and those blue eyes. They will not remember me.
You came to see me at the end of May, and I want you to promise not to ignore me that much. The lunatic asylum just imposes pain on people, so that people cannot escape, and there is nowhere to escape. Especially if no one comes to see you. They wanted to force me to engage in sculpture here, and they tried their best to trouble me if they didn't succeed. Don't forget, Paul, your sister and the mad woman are in jail. Mom wrote to the doctor that I deliberately wanted to hurt you, that I hated you and wanted to go out and hurt you. This is not true. I hope she will take me to the new town. Do you think I want to be like this? Spent many months, many years. . . No friends, no news, no hope? Where did this violent behavior come from? What methods did they use to make you change so much? I really want to know. You might as well send me to Siberia. Do you take care of my things? Are all my things in Newtown? Be careful not to let these things fall into Rodin's hands. He was so scared that I would go back, which is why he kept me here. Are you right, Paul? I really want to go home and close the door tightly. I don't know if I can understand that this is a dream. . . go home. God, I wish I was in the new town.
Your sister in exile, Camille.
(End, "Rodin's Lover" film review. Please all friends who like "The Story of Adele Hugo" can once again appreciate the crazy and crushing eyes of Ajani.)
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