Phil is going to take a much-needed break from traveling for a while. But when he heads out again into
that great unknown, you can be sure that he will have his trusty camera with him.














In our ongoing series YOU REVIEW, in which we ask people in the community to come in and review some aspect of the museum, we have invited Jasmine Ong to write about our Rodin pieces. Have a look at her interesting and unique take...
Tucked away in a small room on Philbrook’s first floor is an intimate exhibit of sculptures by late 19th/ early 20th century French artist Auguste Rodin. Viewing Rodin is usually an experience of grand scale—even when pieces aren’t grouped together in large number, individual works tend to loom large. This is definitely the case with Adam (1880), the massive bronze figure that greets visitors to the Philbrook in the entrance rotunda. More on him later. While Rodin’s unparalleled skill in rendering the human physique invites extended examination of a work of any size, these three relatively small pieces invite viewers to draw close.
First to catch the eye from its central position in the room is Eternal Springtime (1898), portraying in bronze a scene of wild abandon between a young man and woman. The flawlessly smooth surface of the figures contrasts sharply with the base upon which they rest. That contrast is a shared feature among the three works exhibited here, all on loan from the Kasser Art Foundation in Montclair, New Jersey. The young man’s left hand points toward the viewer, and its carefully articulated shape emerges provocatively from a section of rough material that functions as its support. The young woman’s hair flows down the back of the sculpture, at once blending with the base and deliberately rendered to stand out.
Nearby stands another rendering of two figures in close relationship, Young Mother in a Grotto (c. 1885), a scene in marble in which the viewer’s perspective as outsider is enforced by the mother’s body arching over her child, as if to shield him. Neither figure faces the viewer. Their gazes are locked on each other in a private moment of bonding. The child’s left foot, however, is the part of the piece closest to the viewer—it protrudes out of the grotto in an unselfconscious gesture of joy. It is also yet another reminder of Rodin’s extraordinary skill with the human body, especially feet and hands. The Head of St. John the Baptist (1889-1916), rendered in white marble, is presented just below eye level, presumably for optimal viewing but also giving the viewer a good idea of what it might have been like for Salome to receive the Baptist’s head on a platter as reward for her dance at her father King Herod’s birthday celebration. It’s an eerie and wonderful way to experience the work. The figure’s eyes are, mercifully, closed, but his lips are parted as if by a death rattle, and his features are, as always with Rodin, so carefully rendered—the deep ear canal and corners of the closed eyelids, the tensely furrowed brow. In the other two pieces in the room, tool-marked bases feature prominently. Here, the structural support is minimal. A large base isn’t necessary to support this piece, but its absence also helps not to disrupt the naturalistic feel of the exactly life-sized severed head.
After experiencing all this and the many other treasures Philbrook has to offer, Adam (also on loan from the Kasser Art Foundation) is still there in the rotunda to see you out of the museum. He’s a more familiar example of Rodin’s work—epic in scale, with a figure and base whose surfaces more closely resemble each other, creating a greater sense of unity among a larger work’s distinct elements. The figure twists around and leans his head on his shoulder, allowing Rodin’s deft articulation of human features to shine—the elaborate musculature of the turning abdomen, the skin of the left cheek gathering against the pressure of the shoulder. Viewing Adam is an apt prelude and coda not only to the smaller Rodin exhibit inside the museum, but to the experience of Philbrook as a whole.



