A hand of Rodin, at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. I would give anything to have watched Rodin draw and sculpt. Every drawing, every sculpture feels alive and ready to walk away, or sit, or make love, or roll up into a ball, or crawl. It doesn’t matter. It’s alive, and I feel the energy. This hand also reminds me of a poem by T.S. Eliot with a hand crawling across the ocean floor.
Thank you, both, Rodin and Eliot.
