Reality resides not in the external form of things but in their innermost essence. This face entails the impossibility to express anything real while lingering on the surface of things.
- Constantin Brancusi
I viewed Constantin Brancusi's The Muse After 1918 at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art's Encounters with Modem Art: Works from the Rothschild Family Collection exhibition. It was the last of three such versions of The Muse created from polished bronze; the first was created in 1917, the second in 1918, with this final sculpture completed shortly after the second. These bronze pieces were preceded by the original work done in marble, finished in 1912.
On first impression, the personality I encountered in The Muse was one of indifference. The faceless being refused to betray an expression, refused to betray what was on her mind. The face stared blindly at (perhaps through) me. Her taunt lips served only to make me even more uncomfortable in her presence. I felt distrust in this cold, calculating, almost unkind being.
But a muse is a guiding spirit and a source of inspiration. Considering this, the persona of sculpture began to shift for me. Instead of indifference, the gaze of The Muse became one of wonder! Her forward lean indicated a keen interest. The tilt of her head spoke of a sense of curiosity (even amusement) in what she was beholding. Taunt lips transformed into a smile of understanding and perhaps compassion. What I mistook as eyeless I now knew to be wide-eyed, all seeing. Unlike her sculpture-ancestors, Brancusi's renditions of The Sleeping Muse, this muse is an alert observer! And I saw her figure as having a more kindly disposition. Is this because I had taken a more kindly interest in her?
Looking into that polished surface, I could see her mirroring the scene of the gallery space all that time, ultimately revealing the source of her inner energy for inspiration and awakening: it is life in all its forms. Her reflection embraced me, the gallery and all that could be captured by her presence. Though immobile, fixed upon her pedestal, the sculpture began to take a dynamic role, reflecting an ever-changing wisdom. Now it was as if The Muse was poised like a sage, reversing roles to challenge my understanding of wisdom and the understanding of others who would stand before her.
It's noted that Brancusi included in his studies not only the art of Southeast Asia and India, but also the teachings of the Tibetan Buddhist monk Jetsun Milarepa. One could guess that he was influenced by polished bronze statues of the Buddha which he had invariably encountered. The wisdom-pose struck by The Muse becomes reminiscent of seated statues of Avalokiteshvara, the bodhisattva of compassion. With these influences, it is likely that Brancusi was familiar with the idea of shunyata, that nothing can be seen as having an independent, long-lasting form.
Brancusi's simplicity no longer seems as a mere artistic technique, but as the only way he could achieve a true expression of nature. Like haiku poetry, his work functions not in relating a thought or story that occupies his mind, but in compelling the viewer to attempt to directly experience the sculptor's own insight.
The Muse has become a meditation that moves me to discover that source of inspiration, that essential Self that lies both within and without, the guiding spirit which is constantly redefining itself. She continually offers an invitation to share that understanding, which is Brancusi's.
© Richard Aquino, 2007
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