28 октября 2014


There are among the works of Rodin hands, single,
small hands which, without belonging to a body, are
alive. Hands that rise, irritated and in wrath; hands
whose five bristling fingers seem to bark like the five
jaws of a dog of Hell. Hands that walk, sleeping
hands, and hands that are awaking; criminal hands,
tainted with hereditary disease; and hands that are
tired and will do no more, and have lain down in some
comer like sick animals that know no one can help
them. But hands are a complicated organism, a delta
into which many divergent streams of life rush together
in order to pour themselves into the great storm of
action. There is a history of hands; they have their
own culture, their particular beauty; one omcedes to
them the right of their own development, their own
needs, feelings, caprices and tendernesses. Rodin,
knowing through the education which he has given him-
self that die entire body consists of scenes of life, of a
life that may become in every detail individual and
great, has the power to give to any part of this vibrat-
ing surface the mdependence of a whole.

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