On October 18th, the Performing Arts Department hosted Pianist Nadine Jo Crasto and Counter-tenor Subin Mathai for a performance of “Camille Claudel: Into the Fire” by composer Jake Heggie. The six-part song cycle recounted Claudel’s dramatic life and career, from her early work in east Parisian art circles, her tutelage and ill-fated romance with Auguste Rodin, and her resilience in the face of public ridicule, to her thirty-year forced institutionalisation and solitary, woeful death.
Claudel’s enchanting sculptures, conjured from her turbulent inner world, constituted the primary text for each song. The dynamic vocal performance, alternating between light and melismatic, alongside the piano that set the tone for each movement, made for evocative storytelling.
The song cycle began with a wistful prelude comprising melancholic arpeggiated chords and a haunting melody in the upper register. Crasto played sensitively and steadily, with an unspoken resolve to do justice to Claudel's memory. Her piercing, sombre expression indicated a commitment to tell Claudel’s story as unflinchingly as possible.
Given Rodin’s outsized impact on Claudel’s life, it is fitting that the first movement was her internal dialogue with him. His presence in Claudel’s life was all-consuming, and their relationship took on various roles–artist, muse, close confidant and lover. Rodin controlled many aspects of Claudel’s life and work as she depended on him for funding and recognition, in part due to the prevalent gender-based censorship of the time. This power imbalance was mirrored in their intimate relationship, with Rodin refusing to end his 20-year relationship with his wife and forcing Claudel to get an abortion.
Musically, Rodin’s haunting presence was etched into the performance through a sparse, recurring, three-note piano motif played by Crasto. The song progressed into a cloudy, turbulent mood as Claudel desperately searched for signs of true love that Rodin had once shown her, despite his cruel departure and subsequent absence in her life.
In the second movement, “La Valse”, Claudel’s longing gave way to anguished reminiscence. The song is an ode to the cruel reality, expressed in its lyrics, that “every dance of love is tainted with regret.” The regret of having aborted her child with Rodin continued to torment Claudel well into her old age, and she struggled to reconcile her intense love for him with the scars their relationship left her. Claudel’s eponymous sculpture encapsulates this duality by portraying the lovers ensconced in each other's arms, yet slackened by grief.
The figures appear wholly engrossed in the act of dancing, but Heggie imbues the accompanying music with an unhinged, frenzied that reveals the instability of their relationship.
The composition began with a quick run of notes interspersed with short pauses, weaving together a unique waltz. It then eased into a reflection of the moments of fleeting beauty Claudel found dancing with Rodin. This was set to a tranquil bed of piano notes. Suddenly, the vocals wailed to express her passionate longing for these moments of beauty.
The third movement foregrounded with focused turbulence Claudel’s feelings of abandonment by Rodin. Inspired by Kalidasa’s epic tragedy ‘Shakuntala’, and Claudel’s sculpture of the same name, Heggie shows us the striking parallels between the lives of the two women. King Dusyant falls deeply in love with a comely maiden named Shakuntala, then forgets and spurns her because of a curse–much like Rodin abruptly terminated his passionate affair with Claudel.
In her eponymous sculpture, Claudel masterfully captures passion, betrayal, and final surrender to forgiveness, all in one moment. The intertwining of the bodies is claustrophobic, reflecting the all-consuming nature of love.
The music, like the inspiration for its words, showed Eastern influences through its mesmerising modal scales and vocals with rapid, subtle variations. Mathai’s voice, whimsy and tremulous, yet powerful and piercing captured the pace and tenacity of Claudel’s yearning for her former mentor.
Claudel’s unborn child held a special place in her heart, one that she could not bear to evict despite her profound turmoil. The fourth song in the composition, “La Petite Chatelaine,” is based on one of her most personal, acclaimed works–an imagined likeness of this “child,” its eyes transfixed upon its creator and made from white marble, signifying pureness.
The music reflected a sweet sense of innocence, presenting itself like a whispered lullaby that Claudel sung her imaginary child. The song and performance reached an emotive climax when Claudel reflected, “Now I’m forever alone with my children of stone.” Here, the music took a moment to pause, as the words captured both the great heights of her brilliance and the depths of her loneliness as she was severed from those she loved.
Rumours about Claudel’s unusual behaviour and declining health intensified after her abortion. The fifth movement is darkened by Claudel’s growing sense of anxiety and paranoia that Rodin is conspiring to steal her work. A neurotic, metronomic hum on the piano captured the urgency and persistence of this conviction.
Her relationship with Rodin became contradictory and ambivalent, with desire, distrust, and hatred all intermingling. When she asks, “Is it him?” she questions whether Rodin is there to participate in her abduction to the mental asylum or save her. Mathai’s piercing countertenor acquired a wailing quality that thrillingly conveyed this sense of fury and bewilderment.
Before turning towards the epilogue of the performance, an image of Claudel’s sculpture, ‘The Age of Maturity’ was projected for the audience to reflect upon. The mobile image of an older Rodin being led away from Claudel’s outstretched arms by his wife displays the complete transformation of her relationship with him that ended in a painful break. The instant of abandonment by a lover, possibly the defining moment of her life, is replete with helplessness and supplication. This statue showcased the cracks in her relationship with Rodin publically and established her rivalry with him in the public sphere.
The final movement of the composition, however, averts its attention from the sculpture, focusing instead on a photograph of an aged Claudel in the Montdevergues Asylum, with her fellow sculptor and former friend Jessie Lipscomb. The photograph's stillness contrasts Claudel’s sculptures, which, as said in the epilogue, are imbued with movement–“Touching, breathing, reaching, hovering. Something is always about to change.” Her photograph, however, shows the stagnancy forced upon her in her remaining time in the asylum.
Again, the piece began with Rodin’s three-note musical motif, a reiteration of how Rodin’s ‘ghost’ tormented her decades after their affair had concluded. Her deteriorated, skeletal figure in the photograph, underscored by music expressing the cries of a broken spirit, served as a haunting admonition to the audience on the caprice of faith.
But suddenly, an undertone of hope emerged in a cautiously hopeful piano line. Mathai’s voice shifted to a playful tone as Claudel joyfully chatters with Lipscomb. After years of thinking she would remain isolated and forgotten, Claudel is remembered by Jessie and her husband and finds a glimmer of companionship in a period otherwise marked by isolation and paranoia.
For a moment, Claudel drifts off into expressing her paranoia of being poisoned by the asylum staff, a manifestation of her deteriorated mental condition. However, this momentary lapse is eclipsed by her nostalgia and fond reflection on the essence of her artistry and time as an artist; free and full of imagination. Claudel is still enlivened by her memories of Paris, which constituted the best years of her life.
The music accompanying Claudel's final words was sparse and pristine, a single note or chord marking each work Claudel said. The final lines of Claudel’s narration were filled with gratitude, not just to her friend, but also to the artists and audience; breaking the fourth wall and sincerely thanking those present for remembering her.
Fading to silence, the performance had an awe-inspiring effect; one audience member remarked, “You can create an entire performance and fascinate people…with just six statues and a life story.”
The performers achieved this impact through their conscious devotion to the original composition and Claudel’s life story. Crasto reflected on her creative process, “It is always an emotional journey with this piece… knowing so much about her life and just being so passionate about spreading that with people–that always gets to me when I play this music.”
(Edited by Giya Sood and Keerthana Panchanathan)
コメント