Constantin Brancusi: The Kiss 1912
Once upon a time there was a little boy named Constantin. He lived in a small village, Hobita, at the foot of the Carpathian Mountains. Those mountains had magical power. They were stern giants.
During the long, grueling winter evenings Constantin and his siblings sat around the fire listening to folk tales about wolves and bears, talking trees and birds. Their tiny, moss-covered wooden house was filled with elves and fairies and brave boys who picked up their seven-league boots and went into the world.
Every day little Constantin went to herd the sheep flock to the meadow. While they were chewing the grass he leaned against a tree and carved something out of a piece of wood. When he was doing this, he did it unconsciously. He forgot time and space, he forgot the sheep as well. His furious father reproved him every day and his brothers always bullied him for carving wood but he did not care. He rather fled to the mountains and carved more.
One day, when little Constantin was not even ten years old he decided to be the boy from the folk tale. He put his skimpy boots on and escaped from the family home to find that certain world. He plucked a star from the sky to keep him company and hid it in his pocket.
He worked hard in other villages where people pitied him and gave him a job. He constantly asked people where was the world and they sent him to the big city.
He wandered for years from village to village, he passed the magical moonflower meadow, and the legendary fabled-wood. His boots worn out substantially when finally arrived in the city. Young Constantin went to a wise-looking old man to ask where the world was. The old man twirled his mustache and pointed to a large imposing building. Constantin said thank to the man and went across the place where he strongly knocked on the huge door which he thought opens to the world. It was a school.
He learned to write and read there, and learned how to work with materials like marble, stone, bronze, and plaster. He learned about famous sculptor kings like the one with the name Rodin. This king carved kissing lovers, which mesmerized Constantin.
Professors were satisfied because he did a great job. He once made a beautiful violin by himself. He was very talented and after a few years they let him go. They said: “We taught you everything. Now you are ready to go into the world.” They victualed him to the long journey and said goodbye.
Young Constantin put the star in his pocket once again and wandered across the continent by foot. He visited many cities until he found himself in a strangely fancy land where people danced in a red mill and built a huge tower forming an “A” letter from steel. He liked to be there because he found like-minded men whom he became friends with, like Pablo, Amedeo, Marcel, and Henri.
One day he met the sculptor king named Rodin. The king had long beard and funny glasses on his nose. Constantin’s friends convinced him to be the king’s pupil. Maybe he can show me the world, he thought.
He grew a beard himself as well and started to work with King Rodin. But eventually he felt he could not find his world there. He looked up at the sky and remembered of the huge pine trees in his mountains and thought: “Nothing can grow under big trees,” sighted and left the king’s court.
He tried to work alone in his studio, where he carved his furniture from wood by himself. Constantin wanted to show only the important things on his works. But he believed important things were invisible. One cannot see the wind only what it causes and one cannot see the air but dies without it.
So his sculptures became very unique and unconventional. He carved unconsciously just like as a child. He carved the bird from the folk tale he listened to at the fire and he made sleeping heads and ladies with big eyes. He created a tall sculpture, a slim column like the endless trees in the Carpathian Mountains.
He also carved a kissing couple from stone, many times in fact, but it did not resemble to the King Rodin’s one. The figures were square-like. Eyes, lips, arms and bodies completed each other forming one perfect being. They were alike. They were in the world created by them. There were no sounds, no images besides their sighs, and their faces. The rest is needless. All love should be like this, thought everyone who saw the sculpture: a new world. It is twice-told but it is true. It must be true.
People started to understand him and admired his work. He traveled across the big ocean and gained both success and indignation. His star never abandoned him. And when his beard became white as snow people called him the sculptor king.
He finally made his own style: simple, pure forms, only the real essence of things. He put the elemental force he brought from the mountains into his works. He created his individual style and gave a new, modern angle to the art world.
One day he had a beautiful dream about his mountains. They recalled him; the pine trees, the bitter cold winter nights, the verdant spring valleys. Old Constantin did not hesitate. He put his seven-league boots on, took his star from his pocket, clung to it well and left this world forever.
They flew up to the darkening sky. Now his free spirit hovers over the Carpathian Mountains like a bird in the space. Sometimes he takes a rest and comes down to the earth. He leans against a tree, and carves a piece of wood. He does not carve too much, only the essence. There is neither time nor space. All ceased. Now he is truly exactly where he wanted to be as a little boy: in his own world. His star keeps him company there.
The End
