“Toto is transparent.
Don’t leave it there.
When I’m nervous, I need Toto.
He’ll think we’re mad.
He’s here!
Let him in.
Why me?
Let him in!
Hello, young ladies.
Yes, yes…
You have to work the clay.
Don’t rely on inspiration. It doesn’t exist.
What can I teach you, anyway?
A sculpture takes time.
You have to let it rest…
…forget it… to better judge it.
I know. I haven’t finished it. It’s unfinished.
Also, the timing’s bad. I’ve taken on much work. I’m swamped.
Have some tea, at least.
Boucher said you left the Academy. Is that true?
Yes, why? Shouldn’t we have?
No, no. You’ve already solved the heating problem.
This is better. Heating is very important.
My first studio was a stable. Freezing cold.
A rich lady wanted a statue of herself.
I didn’t have a cent, so I got some old shoes…
and tried to burn them for heat, you understand?
The lady arrived and posed… but the smell!
She passed out from the smell.
The scare of my life! I thought she was dead.
What’s this prehistoric beast?
That’s Toto. A small African rhinoceros.”
-from the 1988 French film, Camille Claudel
Watching the Frenchies, eh? With their luxuriously long vacations, they live in another universe, a lovely languid planet so far removed from PLANET AMERICA (TM) that it might as well exist on the far side of the moon. Here we drink from paper cups and GO! all day and everyday, in a dance not punctuated by rest or sleep. In the moments when we close our eyes our brains buzz onward uninterrupted.