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Fragment from the Rodin MuseumAuthor(s): Robert MorrisSource: October, Vol. 3 (Spring, 1977), pp. 3-8Published by: The MIT Press

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7/17/2019 778433


Fragment

from

he

Rodin

Museum

ROBERT

MORRIS

Gravel formalrectanglespathwaysyellowishbrown like along Champs

Elysees

asked them to

bring

t

over

dead shrubscut

square

around

pool seventy-

fivefeet

ong

twenty-five

eetwide

water dead

unfrozenwinter

watermotionless

concrete

wall

just

above

ground

evel

footwide

pathway surrounding

ool

then

dead

hedge

two feet

high

then

expanse

of

yellowish

brown

pea gravel

under feet

air

a

whir

a

whirring

ound from

rafficne

hundred

yards way

along

parkway

moving

consistent

5pm

blurs

traversing

istance beside

pool

sound of

gravel

below

away

sound of

whir

steady

unchanging

back of

pool ground damp

off

gravelground

black dead unfrozenwet

winter

round

cold

5pm

ightfading

back

of

pool

first

tep

sound

of

gravel

topped

two sounds footon

granite

block below

driftingwhir trafficarkwaysitting bove granite tairs her)legs slightly part

eyes

half

closed

legs

and

eyes

slightly

apart

immobile

watching

pool

below

hearing

foot

immobile

passing

her

above her

top

stair

twelfth er

thighspress

seventh

down seven

yellowish gravel

pool

somewhere

word inscribed

gravel

word

unreadable

at

distance

whir

and

5pm light directly

n

front

reen

vertical

expanse

bronze

n

and out focus

representations

ushing

falling

tretchedtrained

naked

metal

stops

space

stepped

along

gravel

sound

thighs gainst

granite

tops

against

second

gated

world of

congealment.

(Cue:

Oompah

band

keeps

heavy

time with each

word)-Spirits, genii,

angels, nymphs,satyrs,bacchantes, sirens, centaurs,dancers,bathers, Satan,

Adam,

Eve

(before

nd after he

Fall),

Christ,

t.

John,Mary

Magdelen,

Bacchus,

Psyche,

Orpheus,

Ariadne,

Ugolino,

Aphrodite,Apollo,

Mercury,

erseus and

Medusa,

Pygmalion

and

Galatea,

Paolo

and

Francesca,

Romeo

and

Juliet,

Ovid

and

Dante,

sin,

melancholy,

orrow,

espair,

desire, mbraces,

bductions,

apes,

sleeps,

fatigues,

wakenings,

reveries,

meditations,

elf-sacrifices,

uses,

materni-

ties,

ncests,

perils,

slitherings,

ulsing,

throbbing,

agging,

tumescent,

ulging,

hacked,

slicked,

gouged,

polished,

ripped,

probed,

kneeded,

torn

(Cue:

cut

Oompah band)

are not

the first

tirrings

f an

animated

clay

so

much as

a

population

melting

down into

...

1. Dog shitwas myfirstesponse nd thewhole thingwent ike this: ... not thefirst

tirrings

f

an

animated

clay

so

much

as a

population

melting

down into

dog

shit.

Maybe.

Green

dog

shit.

The

impression iven

s of

a

state

f

affairs

xisting

n

the

first

oments

fter

ome

basic

molecular

process




7/17/2019 778433


4

OCTOBER

Within the

triangular

nclosure.

Cold

granite

elow. Taut line of

nsulating

wool skirt bove. Two curves

bulges)

of flesh ither ide. A chamber n which

temperature

as

equalizing

itself.

entered

he

door

on the eft nto a

cramped

vestibule.

Opened

the

heavy

bronze

door and entered

he dark

hallway.

Turned to

the

eft,

way

from

he

green

bronze

meringue.

Wanting

to

descend

five

tairs

nd

place my

hand on the cold

granite.

hifted

my

weight

to

the

eft,

walked the hree

steps

to the

bronzedoor

which was

deep

brown.

t was

heavy

but

swung smoothly

on its

hinges.

A

step.

A

step

up

and I was

before

small,

high

counter

r

desk

where

crudely encilled

notation

read,

Adults:

$1.00.

The

door

swung

further

open

than

had

expected.

From

the nertia f ts

weight.

had

trouble

keeping

t

from winging nto the wall. Mytorsotwisted o the eft, arried ythe nertia f

the door.

It

was

a

moment

of

struggle

n

which

I

turned

o

the

eft

way

from

brown

counter

to

my right.

Having

decided to botherno

further ith the

green

upright

bronze

plaque,

I

turned

harply

o

the eft nd

glanced

over

my

shoulder

at

the

eg

projecting

ut over the

seventh

tep

as

my

right

hand

went

out

against

the mullion

of the

heavy

bronze

door.

My

eft

hand

pressed

down

with too

much

force n the

handle

whose brown

patina

had been worn

to

a

brassy

hine. The

door

began

to

swing

nward

nd I

began

to

pull

back

slightly,

nticipating

hat

ts

inertia

would

carry

t

into

the

wall with

a

force

had

not at

first

uspected.

The

admission

sign

was

taped

with

scotch

tape

to thebrown

wood.

Rather t

had been

taped several times.Possiblywhoevertaped it had suspectedthe tape of poor

adhesion

and

had

taped

and

taped

again.

An

aging

female,

lightly

ray.

Slightly

transparent.

eiled

with

a

patina

of

nothingness

n

my

mind's

recollection,

tood

behind the

tongue

and

groove,

brown

painted

kiosk.

suspected

her as the

taper.

She and

the

tape, transparent

ut

yellowish

n

my

recollection.

turned n

my

right

heel

and

entered he

great

hall.

From

below

the

ound

of the

foot

gainst

the

terrazzo. ven

with

the

eyes

closed one

would

have sensed ..

what?

Something

about the

change

of

pressure.

More

as

though

the air

were old

and

heavy.

Companion

to the water

outside.

Heavy,

unchanged,

nside winter

ir. A

sudden

weariness

ehind the

yes.

Want to

roll

up

into head.

Knees

beginning

o

buckle

as

(Cue: low angle slow motion shot of moment of impact of largeheavyobject

hitting

highly polished

stone

floor)

weight

of

fatigue

pulls

heavy

slow. I

waded

into

the

great

hall. That and

the

ight.

The

light

of

skylights

t

5pm

winter.

The

light

of a

translucent

kylight

t that

hour.

Fatiguing

as the

air.

Not

bothering

with

the

catalogue

at the end

of

a

gray

transparent

rm,

leaned

my

weight

o the

right.

Three

steps

nd

I

was into

the

thickening ight

of a

great

rched

hall

full

of

has

gone

awry.

An

instant.Beforewe are all

melted

back

into

theearth

s

piles

of

green

dog

shit.

No

pain.

Just

faintkind of

buzzing

sensation.And

a

powerful,

onfused ense of

difference.This

my

hand?

What?

Slightlygreen

nd

... it

smells.

Good

God,

I'm

turning

nto

dog

shit.

Yet

the tone

of

that was not

right.

omething catological

was

wanted. But what?The

sad

truth s

that the mind is

facedwitha poverty f termswhen it turns oconsiderwhatmightfollow thephrase, 'apopulation

melting

down

into

...

Cup grease?

Karo

syrup?

The real

problem

s to

be

found n

the

preceding

sentence.

pecifically,

he

very hrase,

population

melting

own into

is the

clinker.

Why

wouldn't

frozen

nto do? Or

even

the

clumsier,

ar

weaker,

distorted nto

is

wide

open

for

followers.




7/17/2019 778433


Fragment rom

he Rodin Museum

5

broad,

plain

mouldings

and dados the color of

dark

bronze.

The walls

were

white.

A resistance o the ye.Somethingnmybody turning lightly. erhapspreparing

forone of

its

seven

year

renewals.From below the sound

of

the

foot

n the

stone.

And at a

distance.

In the

mind.

It

seemed

high

up.

The

sound of

mumbled

conversation.

Or the

muffled

ound

of

pigeons

under

an eve.

The

triceps

muscles

of

the

right

arm were

contracted,

hrusting

he arm

straight

downward

and

slightly way

from he

body.

The

forearm as

bulging

with

igaments orcing

he

hand into a fistwith the

ndex

finger ointing

at

the

ground.

Five

steps

and

my

eyes

were at the evel of his

sex. The

only

relaxedmuscle

n

his

body.

imagined

t

otherwise.His

right

hand

gripped

her)

left alf at the

point

where the

stocking

ended.

I

moved toward the

figure

nd the sound

of

steps

on the

flagstones

rom

below. The neck was forced own and forward

gainst

the eft houlder.The torso

pivoted slightly

o the

right

o that

he

chest

nd

armswere

n

one

plane.

The

hips

and

legs

in

another.

The

body

was

tense and

motionless. Stood rooted there.

Allowing

her to heave

against.

Skirt

around

waist.

I

waded

through

the

heavy

dense air

not

hearing

he ound of thefoot

gainst

the

rough

stone.

Vision

moving

down its own

tunnel.

Fixed ahead on

the bunched muscles of the bronze

belly.

Brown

and

polished

like the water

outside.

Like the

winter

pool

outside which

had brown

leaves

at

the bottom. But

if

drawn to

it,

also drawn

past

it.

To the

window

beyond.

Small

paned

and with

bronze mullions

running

up

and down.

Past thebronze mid-section o themetal rectangle.Through its squarenessthe

corrugation

f

granite

tairs

fanning

out below. And there.At the

seventh.

The

wool

stocking aught

on the

polished

rigid

ndex

finger.

ehind me

the

great

hall.

Its

stale

air.

Its broad and

plain

brown

moldings

following

he curves f ts

white

arched

ceiling.

stood for ome

secondsbefore he

window. Dead

center.

ive

thin

bronze

mullions to

the

right,

five o

the left.

From the cornerof

my right ye

sensed rather

han saw a room. Or

a

hallway.

Or

an

alcove.

Or a darker

pace.

I

stretched

my

right

rm down

stiff.

gainst

mybody.

felt he

triceps

muscle t the

back of the

arm contract nd

press gainst

the shirt.

twisted rom he

waist. The

shoulders and

the chest faced

toward the

room,

the

hips

and

legs

addressed

he

glass fora momentbefore urning.The head dropped against the eft houlder

resisting

he

turn

momentarily

s the

vision

caught

on the

eg

projecting

rom

he

seventh

tep

below. It was

a

hallway.

Or an alcove.

And

a

darker

pace.

And

a

room.

Beyond

it,

or

through

t,

on

the

right

tood a

glass

case

edged

in

bronze.

Unlit.

Against

thewall of the

lcove

stood

a second massive

case. The lower

third

was of

bronze.

The

upper

section

was

formed

y

four

arge panes

of

glass.

Within

was a

model

of

the

green

bronze

Gate

which stood

outside. A

passageway

connected

he

great

hall,

its

light

now like

smoke,

to the

smallerroom.

A

wall

of

granite.

On the

one side

the

green

bronze Gate. The

outside.

On theother ide a

miniature

f the same in red

clay.

The inside. The

samefistless hree

top

thered.

Even tinier igureswrithingn thethrows fdeath,orgasm,or ray-gun ransfor-

mation

into..




7/17/2019 778433


6

OCTOBER

And

the

ight?

he

inquired

after

o

long

a

pause.

Dark,

I said.

Suddenly

he looked weary, lmost as thoughhe withheldtheexpressionof a secretpain

gnawing

at some

part

of his

body.

He

held

himself

tiffly.

ivoted

his

upper

body

around to

face me

while

his

lower

legs

remained

facing

a

different

ay.

The

fists?

We both knew.

Fistless,

I

replied, feeling

nfectedwith

his

weariness.

Fistless,

I

could

see that

much

even

in

the

light, 2

continued.

Somehow I

wanted to

convince

him.

I

recall that he had

no

eyes.

Only

hollows

of

deep

shadow.

And

projecting

brows. The

weight

was thrown

ack. The

belly

vast and

slung

forward.A

heavy

robe covered

he

massive torso.The

hands were

beneath

the

robe. The left

gripped

the

right

wrist.The

right

ist

ppeared

to

hold the

sex.

The

hands

werenot visible. The

figure

was

raised

up

on a

high pedestal.

waited

forhim to

speak

ofanotherunseenfist. ut he turned, unk back intohimself.Or

leaned his

weight

back

and

merely

eered

down

at me.

Squat

and

massive.Thick

with

flesh.

Heavy

with

muscle in

the

process

of

losing

its tone.

An

abandoned

body.

Gross

and

full.

The bulk was

leaning

back.

The

weight

was

back

on the

heels. The

right

fist

ulled

the

flesh

orward

gainst

the

ean.

Away.

Somewhere.

The

aforementioned

ound.

Pigeons.

And

below. As I

circled

hebulk.

The

sound

of one

foot

sliding

across the stone.

Then the other

coming

to

rest

beside it.

Sideways

ocomotion.The robe

thick

s felt. he

robe

draped

over

quat

flesh. he

robe

bulging

over the

right

fist.

he

heavy

plaster

robe was

coveredwith

a fine

patina ofdustand, in places,dirt.The plasterfigureoveredwithdust. The light

suited t.

It

suited

the

light.

The

dust.

Where the air

had

sagged

and

died.

The

plaster

was

hard

and

angular.

Nearly

planar

in

places.

To

the

eft

small,

narrow,

singlepaned

window framed

n

bronze,

ave

out onto

thewet

earth

nd a

corner f

the tair.

The

way

the

flesh

f

fat

people

can

look. The

way

the

expanse

offlesh

nd

2.

Had the

fist een

nearby

t would

have

had the tatus f a

'fragment'.

ad

the

body

been

armless

and had the

arms

been

nearby,

hey

oo

would

have been

addressed

s

fragments

f

the

body.

Or,

had

the

body

not

been

nearby,

we would

simply

have 'arm

fragments'.

oes a

once-whole

figure

when

equally

divided,

s

though

by

swordfrom

rown to

crotch,

ield

two

fragments?

ore

than

ikely

wo

halves have

been

produced.

At

what

point

in

a

progressive

emoval

of

parts

do

we

encounter

he

threshold,

he

dividing

ine,

beyond

which

we no

longer

have a

figure

nd its

fragment(s)?

omewhere

less thanhalf,no doubt. Yet a bust s nota fragmento muchas a part.Fragment,fcourse, s a kindof

part.

But a

bust

s not

thatkind

of

part.

The

fragment

ind. A

nose,

an

ear,

a

finger,

cock,

a

foot,

slice

of

back

how

fitting

slice'

is to

fragment;

hey

were

made

for

ach

other)

re

fragment

ype

parts.

But

assume

the

fist

ad

been

nearby,

aving

fallen

from he

figure.

ssume

further

hat

n

striking

he

ground

nothing

to

do

with

anger,

but

pulled

down

by

the

heavy

hand

of

gravity,

o to

speak)

the

knuckle

of

the

second

finger

ad

brokenoff.

Do

we now

posses

a

'part'

of

a

fragment?

ad the

fist

broken

neatly

nto two

parts

weighing qual

amounts,

n

spite

of a

certain

symmetry,

ould

we then

have two

halves

of

a

fragment?

r

do

we

begin

over?

Taking

one halfof

the

fist t

a

time,

we

are back to

dealing

with

fragments'

f

the

figure ure

and

simple.

But here

Rilke

chides that

the

feeling

f

incompleteness

oes

not

rise from he

spect

of a

thing,

ut from

he

assumption

of

a

narrow-minded

pedantry,

which

says

that rms

re

a

necessary

art

of

the

body

.

.

Nothing

here f

fists

alling

ff ike

roof

tiles. On

the

contrary,

ilke

saw in

the

drawers

t Meudon:

Hands

that

rise,

rritated

nd in

wrath;

hands

whose

five

ristling ingers

eem to bark

ike

the five

aws

of

a

dog

of

Hell.

Hands

that

walk, sleepinghands,

and

hands

that

are

awakening;criminalhands, taintedwithsomehereditary

disease;

and hands thatare tired nd will do no

more,

nd

have

lain

down

in some

corner

ike sick

animals

that know no

one can

help

them...

Perhaps

what

that

missing

fist

was

hiding

n

its clutch

was reason

enough

for

ts

removal.




7/17/2019 778433


Auguste

odin.Mask

f

Hanako,

The

Japanese

Actress.

911.

Pate

de verre.

The

Rodin

Museum,

Philadelphia.)

hair of fat

men can take

on

the

appearance

of

powerful

nimals.

Elephants

and

rhinoceros r

hippos.

Beneath the

expanse

of

encasing

hide and hair and fatone

senses the

powerful

muscles.

Without

his

robe

he

had that look.

Legs

spread.

Rather

legs

astride.

Astride f what I

could

not

say.

But his

heavy

thighs

were

astride

shape.

A

shape

started eside his ankles and thrust

pward

n

a

tapering,

pyramidal

form

oming

to rest etweenhis

legs.

Spearing

his

groin.

A

largeprop.

An aid

which

both held

him

up

and...

I

had

again

felt he

fatigue.

As

though

had been

knocked down

from

above. The

feeling

behind the knees. The

eyes

wantingto rollback. The desire togivein (Cue: colorshot,mediumcloseup,23

frames

only,

of

the

heavy

sword

beheading

in

one stroke black bull

in the

Malaysian

New Year

festival)

nd

sink

down onto

the

granite

n

a

deep sleep.

Well,

I

was not

blessed

with

prop

like his. Blessed?

Perhaps

t was

not a

prop

but




7/17/2019 778433


8

OCTOBER

rather sort

of

geometric

ernia which

sagged

outof him.

To the

very

arth.

And

whichhis long robe sometimes overed.Perhaps. I had lostall interestn him. I

shifted

my

weight,

he eftfoot

coming

to rest

besidethe

right.

Nothing

between

the

legs.

Nothing

but dead

air. It

hung

there. n the

space. Palpable.

A

slightly

dirty

ight

filtering

own from

hearchesof the

great

hall. It

deposited, articleby

particle,

patina

of

fine

dust

and,

in

places,

built

up

to a

layer

of dirt

over

the

bronzeflesh.

igures.

Lurching. Leaning.

Straining.

Rotating.

Six. Seven.

More?

Pressing.

Milling.

Confined.

pace

too

small.

Pressing.

ix.

Seven.

More.

Twelve

legs.

Fourteen?

More?

Confined.

Circling.

Circling

her?

Milling.

Pressing.

Wool.

Thighs.

Enclosing. Pushing.

Damp.

Bronze.

Mumbling.

Wet.

Pressed.

Pressed

n.

Pushed and

flattened. he face

was

grotesque.

Not a full

face.

More

like

a

mask.

Several. Several of the same face.Three of the sameface. Therebehindthehigh

glass

of

the case.

Sitting

well back

in

the

bronze

case,

overly

arge

for

what it

displayed,

were three

ough

masks or

modeled faces n

pinkish

terra

otta.

These

were

placed

on a

rumpled,pinkish,

fadedvelvet

whose

wrinkles

ed one to

suspect

an

attemptby

a curator

ong

since

gone

to

give

a

carelessbut

suave

style

o

the

swirl and

folds

of

the

cloth.

Perhaps

further

andiworkof

the

transparent

aper

... Dead

cloth.

As dead

appearing

as

the

objects

within,

heair

without, nd,

one

could

not

help

but

assume,

the air

within.

The

edges

of

the

glass

plates

met

n

bronze

orner

mullions.

Undoubtedly

t

was

airtight.

ne

suspected

hat he

ntire

contents

would

collapse

into

dust

particles

hould the

case be

opened.

The

faces.

Bothhacked and modeled.Smoothed n

places,

gouged

inothers.As

though

made

in

the

spirit

f

a sketch.

Or

a

study.

Or

a

studied ketch.

As

though

trying

or

hose

contours,

hose

planes,

those

ccentricitiesf

shape

and

line,

which

n

themselves

tread

dangerously

near

the

ump,

but

taken ll

togetherand

how

else can a

facebe

taken?)

atch

the ook

of the

subject.

Oriental.

The

eyes

without he

upper

folds.

And

flattened

ut.

The

whole of

the

thing

more

n

one

plane

than

most

faces.

The

bridge

of

the

nose

quite

low.

The

mouth

slightly parted.

Those

touches of

roughness,

hose small

gouges,

pits,

scratches,

acks and

lumps

gave

to

the

face

not

only

its

verisimilitude ut its

expression

f

terror.

t had

witnessed

heflesh

melting,the skin peeling, the fire preading, the bodies bloating, the blood

clotting.My

face was

pressed

gainst

the

glass.

I

felt

he

bridge

of

my

nose flatten

as

I

stared nto

the other

faces.

At

my

eft,

round

the

bronze

orner

nd

pressing

against

the

glass

perpendicular

to

my

glass,

a

flattened

ace

was

reflected,

he

bridge

of

her

nose

nearly

n

a

plane

with

the

cheek

bones.

Lips parted

and

wet

against

the

glass.

The

dark,

like

dust,

settling

n her

back.

Hands

against

the

pilaster.

Skirt

pulled

up.

The

curve of

her

hip visibly

pressing

gainst

the dark

bronze.

Hands

forcing

he arch

in

her back.

Still

as

statues.

Partly

hidden

by

the

darkness

ettling

n

the

niche.

High up.

In

the

recesses.

Where

the

5pm

winter

light

died

in

the

motionless

ir.

Where

the

dead air

hung.

Where

the

sound of

a

foot n stonedriftedpwardtobemetbythe ound ofmumbled onversations. r

pigeons.

Drifting

down.

Where

midway

n

the

numbed

space

the

sounds met.

Interpenetrated.

lended

nto an

irregular

ighing

sound...

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