She sat for hours on that rough-hewn wooden stool in that small room at 11 Rue Ronsin. Brâncuși stood opposite her, his hands buried in a mass of grey, wet clay. She was perplexed; the artist did not measure the bridge of her nose nor did he calculate the shadows beneath her jawline. Instead, he stared at her straight into her eyes, reaching deeper and deeper into her mind.
He was not interested in her form, regardless of how attractive it was; he was searching for her soul, the essence of her…
The muse watches Brâncuși’s thumbs press hard into the clay, carving out two massive, smooth shapes where her almond-shaped eyes should be. Hours later, the clay bust is finished. It encapsulates her essence perfectly; her graceful demeanour and, most importantly, her expressive gaze.
Brâncuși looks at the sculpture. Then, with a sudden stroke of his palm, he smashes the face back into a lump of grey mud. The artist explains that he is not looking for the woman who stands there in the room with him. He searches for the one who remains after she leaves the room.
For more than two decades, that is what Brâncuși did. He crafted at least 19 variations of Mademoiselle Pogany, entirely from memory. The first completed piece had left Margit perplexed. "I realised that it was me, although the head did not have any of my traits; it was all those big eyes."
The artist had managed to reach beyond her form.
She sat for hours on that rough-hewn wooden stool in that small room at 11 Rue Ronsin. Brâncuși stood opposite her, his hands buried in a mass of grey, wet clay. She was perplexed; the artist did not measure the bridge of her nose nor did he calculate the shadows beneath her jawline. Instead, he stared at her straight into her eyes, reaching deeper and deeper into her mind.
He was not interested in her form, regardless of how attractive it was; he was searching for her soul, the essence of her…
The muse watches Brâncuși’s thumbs press hard into the clay, carving out two massive, smooth shapes where her almond-shaped eyes should be. Hours later, the clay bust is finished. It encapsulates her essence perfectly; her graceful demeanour and, most importantly, her expressive gaze.
Brâncuși looks at the sculpture. Then, with a sudden stroke of his palm, he smashes the face back into a lump of grey mud. The artist explains that he is not looking for the woman who stands there in the room with him. He searches for the one who remains after she leaves the room.
For more than two decades, that is what Brâncuși did. He crafted at least 19 variations of Mademoiselle Pogany, entirely from memory. The first completed piece had left Margit perplexed. "I realised that it was me, although the head did not have any of my traits; it was all those big eyes."
The artist had managed to reach beyond her form.
