Art Eyewitness Photo Essay:
A Late Winter Idyll at the Rodin Museum
The calendar page has flipped to April 2025. It is time to bid farewell to March and prepare to greet spring in the first blush of its glory.
The magnolia trees are flowering. Forsythia bushes are clad in yellow-gold, as are the first of this year’s daffodils. Best of all, cherry and apple blossoms, delicate in pink and silvery white, are starting to appear. These are familiar sights which never grow old.
Normally, the passing of March is not an occasion for regret. The third month of the year is tricky and unpredictable. It dangles the promise of spring but is often slow to deliver. But when the first buds and blossoms reveal themselves – what wonder!
So, let’s drink a “cup of kindness” in honor of the month of March and, while we do, let’s not forget to praise the blue skies of March.
The late winter/early spring skies – when March is in a cooperative mood – have a clear, crystalline brilliance which other seasons often cannot match. The clarity of vision at this time of the year can be quite extraordinary. There is a sharpness to perception which, coupled with the chill of the air, creates a heightened state of awareness.
Taken to extremes, this visionary state can engender a form of "March Madness." It's easy to get carried away, snapping photos heedlessly - and forgetting that it's still winter.
With these thoughts in mind, Anne and I availed ourselves of the opportunity to do some urban landscape photography. The date was March 3, 2025 and the weather was perfect for our afternoon photo safari to the neighborhood surrounding the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
Late winter sunlight is particularly effective in casting shadows from trees (still without leaves) and public monuments. The magnificent equestrian statue of General George Washington, created by the German sculptor Rudolf Siemering, never looks more “alive” than when it is seen in silhouette against the backdrop of a crisp, azure sky of March.
The Rodin Museum is a text book example of classical architecture in a modern urban setting. It was designed by Paul Cret (1876-1945), the architect of the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington D.C., to house an impressive collection of sculptures by Auguste Rodin (1840-1917).
The early movie theater mogul, Jules Mastbaum (1872-1926),
had amassed these Rodin masterpieces and funded the construction of the museum and
its surrounding gardens which he intended to bequeath to the city of
Philadelphia. Sadly, Mastbaum died before the museum was built, but his wife,
Etta, saw the project to completion.
The Rodin Museum opened in 1929 and is administered by
the Philadelphia Museum of Art. The collection of Rodin bronzes, marble statues
and plaster models is one of the largest outside of France. When we visited on
March 3rd, we were more interested in recording the effect of light
and shadow on the exterior of the museum rather than the works of art on display in the interior.
Little did we know what “crafty” March had planned for us.
There certainly are outstanding sculptures adorning the exterior walls of the museum or positioned around it, in the open air. One of the most poignant and provocative works in the canon of Western art, The Burgers of Calais, is prominently displayed in the garden adjacent to the Rodin Museum. Since I discussed the Burgers in an earlier Art Eyewitness essay, I will forgo making additional commentary in this post.
Instead let's begin with Rodin’s most familiar work. The Thinker, sits in thoughtful meditation at the entrance to the Rodin Museum campus. Originally conceived, in a much reduce scale, to crown the vast ensemble known as The Gates of Hell (about which more later), The Thinker has suffered from over-exposure. Kenneth Clark commented that when "seen in isolation, (it) is a tiresome generalization."
When viewed in the sharp, piercing light of a sunlit March afternoon, The Thinker is able to defy even Clark's otherwise astute judgement.
In one of the alcoves on the front of the museum building stands The Age of Bronze. This superb work, one of Rodin's finest in my estimation, pivots on his feet with arms stretching upward, as if breaking free from the metallic grip which has confined his spirit. Perhaps it would be better to think of this statue not as a man of bronze, but as a new incarnation of "The Thinker." Finished with brooding reflection, he stands, springing into life.
Rodin's bronzes were made to be seen out-of-doors. Exposed to, enveloped by and brought to "life" by sunlight, a Rodin bronze exudes a sense of energy than corresponds to Henri Bergson's concept of Élan vitale. However impressive a gallery setting may be for a Rodin bronze, artificial light does not have the same "conjuring" effect.
Great works of public art are creatures of shadow, as well as light. The interplay of constantly shifting light, transitory shadow and solid, enduring bronze and stone was present everywhere we looked during our visit to the Rodin Museum.
In the case of the Rodin Museum, a major factor in the interaction of light and shadow is the parallel row of tall trees which extend along the Benjamin Franklin Parkway in front of the museum.
When the afternoon light strikes these trees, it casts their shadow upon the facade of the Rodin Museum. The effect is unsettling. The stone walls and columns now bear the ghostly imprint of stately trees which appear to be growing-up from below the payment to embrace the building, clinging to it like ivy.
Of course, the image of shadow upon stone can be accounted for by the laws of optics. The precisely articulated landscape design of the Rodin gardens and the classical architecture of the museum stand four-square against descriptions such as "the effect is magical" or "mystical nature has asserted itself over the hand of man."
Yet, there is a dramatic clash of ideals which is integral to the structure and mission of the Rodin Museum. Paul Cret, a French-born architect schooled in the principles of Beaux-Arts design, created a building which is emblematic of the Age of Reason. Auguste Rodin's oeuvre proclaims what Kenneth Clark called the Romantic Rebellion which overturned the classicism which Cret's design evoked.
This creative conflict or dissonance is staring one in the face when you behold the monumentally huge doors of the Rodin Museum, The Gates of Hell.
Rodin's The Gates of Hell are completely at odds with classicism and reason, even with Dante's poem which it is supposed to illustrate. It is hard tell who among the writhing, contorted figures emerging from its surface is damned and who is saved. The Gates of Hell offers so few concessions to our human sensibilities that a lot of times when I visit the Rodin Museum, I give it a quick glance - and a shudder - and walk inside through less intimidating doors.
However, with the luminous March sunlight at work, in tandem with the corresponding shadows, Rodin's Gates of Hell arrest one's attention with irresistible force. I had to look, had to ponder the meaning of the disturbing drama which Rodin modeled on it surface. A glimpse in passing just would not do.
When I did manage to wrench my eyes away from the "continuous swirling and floating in Art Nouveau rhythms" which characterize The Gates of Hell, "tricky and unpredictable" March had a surprise planned for us, once we were inside.
The interior of the Rodin Museum is a beautifully proportioned space with abundant room to take the measure of the works of art by the great French master. Since paintings and works on paper are seldom displayed at the Rodin, there are several windows which open the main-floor area to natural light.
The Rodin Museum is an almost idyllic spot, year-round, and during Philadelphia's hot, humid summers it is an oasis for the body, as well as the mind. The month of March, as I hinted earlier, had something else in store for us, in one of the side galleries of the museum: a light show which would dramatize Rodin's most controversial work, his 1898 monument to the French literary lion, Honoré de Balzac.
Upon entering this gallery, on the northwest corner of the museum, we were amazed to behold the room and the statue of Balzac bathed in fiery light. It was the kind of blood-orange hue which J.M.W. Turner would have used to paint burning Parliament buildings. But there were no nearby buildings afire and it was still almost two hours until sunset.
By some "trick" effect of late winter sunlight, a setting was created worthy of Balzac, one of the titans of 19th century Romanticism. The blazing orange light also recalled the violent reception of Rodin's Monument to Balzac by the literary society which had commissioned it in 1891. It was not until 1939 that a bronze cast of the Balzac statue was finally put on display in Paris.
By contrast, the smaller version in the Rodiin Museum collection was cast in 1925. It shares the gallery with the Colossal Head of Balzac, which is a 1925 cast of one of the final studies for the controversial plaster model which was rejected in 1898.
There is also an actual plaster model of a naked Balzac, without his famous dressing gown which he habitually wore while writing. This was one of the many studies made by Rodin during the seven year project. By another uncanny act of illumination, a piecing beam of light streaked across the gallery floor, aimed directly at the plaster model. We could not have planned all of these "fireworks" even if we had tried.
The results of our photo safari had far exceeded our expectations. We were truly gratified, even a bit mystified. Had these remarkable images and the thoughts and reflections they engendered merely been an accident of timing and good luck?
Text: Copyright of Ed Voves, all rights reserved
Original photography, copyright of Anne Lloyd
Introductory Image: Anne Lloyd, Photo (2025) Detail of Auguste Rodin's Balzac. Details and credits below.
Balzac. Modeled 1898; cast 1925. Created by Auguste Rodin (French, 1840 – 1917). Cast by the founder Alexis Rudier, Paris (1874–1952) Bronze: 41 3/4 x 15 3/4 x 13 3/4 inches (106 x 40 x 34.9 cm) Philadelphia Museum of Art, Rodin Museum Collection. Bequest of Jules E. Mastbaum, 1929
Colossal Head of Balzac. Modeled 1898; cast 1925. Created by Auguste Rodin (French, 1840 – 1917). Cast by the founder Alexis Rudier, Paris (1874 – 1952) Bronze: 20 x 16 1/2 x 15 1/4 inches (50.8 x 41.9 x 38.7 cm) Philadelphia Museum of Art, Rodin Museum collection, Bequest of Jules E. Mastbaum, 1929.
