It took me a long time to understand the appeal of sculpture. When I was younger it seemed to me that the Herculean effort that went into creating a single sculptural work didn’t justify the end result – I found sculptures too simple, too colourless, and utterly unmoving.
…it probably goes without saying, but my younger self had a tendency to overcomplicate every aspect of her life. That extended as far as her taste in art.
I loved the Musee Rodin from the first time I visited in 2012. But the appeal of sculpture didn’t truly reveal itself to me until my first visit to the Musee Bourdelle in 2017. I loved it so much that I insisted on going back on repeat visits, even though it was inconveniently located miles across the city from where we lived at the time. Bourdelle’s work opened my eyes – and it was like I was seeing all sculptures for the first time. In some ways, it felt like love at first sight.
That isn’t to say that I came to love all sculpture equally. I have a soft spot for Italian marble work, but my true loves are the French sculpturists of the early twentieth century, in particular Antoine Bourdelle, Amadeo Modigliani and Constantin Brancusi. Among the three, I couldn’t possibly choose a favourite. What I love most about all of them is how each of their sculptures is unique, but at the same time represents the overarching style of their work. That’s part of what makes visiting museums dedicated to them so special: seeing a large body of their work collected in a single place, where the intent behind it can be articulated almost as clearly as if the artist were present.
I saw Brancusi’s work for the first time at the Art Institute in Chicago in 2015. They have a small but beautiful selection of his work, but its nothing compared to Atelier Brancusi in Paris. How could this place have existed my whole life, I wondered on my first visit in 2019. How could I have walked past it so many times, completely unaware of what was inside?
Atelier Brancusi is the contents of the artist’s studio, transported to an independent building at the Centre Pompidou. Brancusi willed his body of work to the state in the fifties. Since then, it’s been on a journey, starting at the Palais de Tokyo, where the atelier was partially reconstructed in 1962. Fifteen years later, it moved to a permanent home at the Centre Pompidou. A flood in 1990 meant Atelier Brancusi closed to the public for seven full years. It reopened in 1997, reconstituted and reimagined by architect Renzo Piano.
It’s Piano’s version of Atelier Brancusi that remains open today. While I didn’t personally experience any of the previous iterations, the current version is such a masterwork that I can hardly claim to feel I’ve missed anything. It is perfect conceived and elegantly delivered. It both captures and encapsulate the spirit of Brancusi and his work.
My love of beautiful things grows unabated with every passing year. Beautiful things thoughtfully arranged in an artistic chaos is the stuff of my dreams. And so, in turn, is Atelier Brancusi. That I’ve waited this long to share these photos seems hard to believe. But maybe holding onto them all this time, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal them, made sense. The memory of Atelier Brancusi, and the possibility of seeing it again in the future, has often buoyed my sinking spirits during the pandemic. The eve where that possibility is a reality less than seven weeks in the future feels like the perfect moment to finally share this place that I love so much. If you’re lucky enough to visit Paris, like I soon will be, Atelier Brancusi should be on your must-see list. It will forever be on mine.
Atelier Brancusi
Place Georges Pompidou
01 44 78 12 33
