Parisian sculptor Camille Claudel

A splendid vision, a troubled life

Sculpture by Camille Claudel is on view at the Getty Museum

by Bondo Wyszpolski

Frida Kahlo has managed to slip out from under the shadow of Diego Rivera, but Camille Claudel has had a much harder time being perceived apart from Auguste Rodin, despite the latter once having said that all of his friends “seem to think Mademoiselle Claudel is still my protégée, when in fact she is an unappreciated artist.”

Others went further in their praise. In 1895, Armand Dayot wrote that “I should be very surprised if Mademoiselle Claudel did not one day, suddenly, take her place among the great master sculptors of the century.”

With regards to that “suddenly,” for L.A. art-goers it happened at the start of April when “Camille Claudel” opened at the J. Paul Getty Museum, where the exhibition featuring nearly 60 of Claudel’s works will be on view through July 21.

Camille Claudel (1864-1943) was naturally gifted, but in centuries past women who embarked on careers in art often faced insurmountable odds, namely through male obstinance and the belief that women were incapable of making great art. When they were able to break through those barriers it was largely because they were the wives, daughters, or other relatives of male artists who were already successful. Female painters like Berthe Morisot and Mary Cassatt gained a high degree of renown, but for a woman to succeed as a sculptor was another rung higher up on the ladder.

Yet Camille Claudel succeeded. Sometimes, though, in the form of a backhanded compliment, as when Octave Mirbeau reviewed one of her shows: “Do you realize that we are in the presence of something unique, a revolt of nature: a woman genius.” After all, who would ever have said of Rodin: “a male genius”?

Speaking of Rodin (whose “Balzac” was prominently displayed at the L.A. County Museum of Art, and whose “Burghers of Calais” stands outside the entrance to the Norton Simon Museum), Clarisse Fava-Piz sums up what proved to be a complicated relationship: “Claudel’s affiliation with Rodin was both a gift and a curse. Rodin facilitated her introduction to Parisian artistic circles, but Claudel was confronted with the challenge of having her work constantly compared to his.”

Their working relationship, which began as teacher and student, spilled into a physical, emotional relationship that was perhaps ruinous in its aftermath. Years later, when her madness set in, Claudel constantly accused Rodin “and his gang” of trying to sabotage her career.

But during the 1890s and at least half-way through the following decade, Claudel was a force of nature: a force of nature that, like a storm, simply exhausted itself. The “Wounded Niobid” (1906, and included in the show) was her last work. “Weakened by illness and devoured by paranoia,” writes Cécile Bertran, “Claudel was no longer capable of creating new pieces.”

Her fame, however, had steadily risen through the 1890s. In 1898, Mathias Morhardt wrote an essay about her that ran nearly 50 pages in the prestigious “Mercure de France.” In it, says Cécile Bertran, “he displays an acute understanding of the pieces, offering detailed commentary and sincere enthusiasm for Claudel’s work.”

The two became friends. Morhardt also wrote that “Mademoiselle Claudel ranks among the rare artists whose every endeavor cannot leave anyone indifferent. She has asserted her status with a power that cannot be denied.”

And yet, Claudel herself was uncertain. Asking for Morhardt’s opinion about one of her pieces, she said, Is it any good? “I can never tell since I am always having doubts about my work.”

She was also often financially pressed, but maybe a little careless with her money when she had it. Furthermore, she was somewhat erratic in what commissions she accepted and declined, and in this she may have been her own worst enemy. In her younger days, Claudel had enjoyed the encouragement of her father, and later in life her brother, Paul, who became a distinguished poet and diplomat, helped her financially when possible. It should be noted as well that Rodin, even after their bitter breakup, assisted Claudel when he could.

However, there was one sculpture of Claudel’s that Rodin was not amused by. The “Age of Maturity” depicts an older woman leading away a middle-aged man while a younger woman imploringly tries to make him stay. If this is an autobiographical work, and many would assert that it is, the older woman is Rodin’s long-term partner, Rose Beuret, whom he refused to abandon, and the agonized young woman is Claudel.

The sculpture is masterful, and among the highlights of an exhibition with many stunning pieces. In the words of Emerson Bowyer: “Formally complex, and emotionally and thematically profound, the [“Age of Maturity”] ranks among the greatest French sculptures of the nineteenth century.”

Claudel often created variations of certain pieces, “The Waltz” being one that underwent several transformations, and a few of them are lined up near one another at the Getty. From certain angles, the fusion of bodies—essentially nude male and female—seems to flow upward. The great thing about sculpture is that we can walk around it, but imagine if these four or five renditions had each been placed on a spinning turntable.

There are many works in this exhibition that span Camille Claudel’s career, including portrait busts of her brother and sister Louise, as well as a famous one of Rodin (The show also has a couple of his works—a nice treat). Each viewer will have favorites, and mine include “The Chatterboxes” which depicts four women, gathered together and presumably gossiping, which is shown in both marble and marble onyx versions. Another piece I like, not on display but in the catalog, is “The Wave,” with three bronze figures and a marble onyx breaker about to tumble on them. A fleeting moment, perfectly captured, and simply exquisite.

To get a somewhat visceral sense of what Claudel’s life was like, especially with regards to Rodin, one may want to seek out Bruno Nuytten’s 1988 film, “Camille Claudel,” starring Isabelle Adjani and Gérard Depardieu, which was nominated for two Academy Awards—Best Actress and Best Foreign Film—so it’s no fly-by-night production.

I’ve alluded to Claudel’s “madness.” There were early signs of her irrational behavior and her increasing distrust and paranoia. And so, in March of 1913, after being diagnosed with a systematized persecution delirium, she was interned at a psychiatric hospital where she remained for the 30 years remaining of her life. There is no indication, during those three decades, that she again wanted to sculpt. It was a sad finale to such a promising beginning.

The catalog, a work of art in itself, concludes with a selection of letters, to and from Camille Claudel, plus reviews, assessments of her work, and other documents. The last item was a letter written by the art dealer, agent, and bronze producer Eugène Blot, sent to Claudel in 1932. It ends with these words: “What can I do for you now, dear Camille Claudel? Write to me, take the hand that I am reaching out to you. I have never ceased to be your friend.”

But, because of restrictions imposed by her family, the letter was not delivered to her. We are left with a bittersweet taste, knowing that Camille Claudel was never to see it.

Camille Claudel is on view through July 21 at the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles. The exhibition, the first in North America in over 30 years to focus solely on Claudel’s work, is co-curated by Anne-Lise Desmas and Emerson Bowyer. Free, but you’ll need to pony up some $$ for parking. (310) 440-7300 or visit getty.edu. PEN

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