’
‘ Yes, then. But I ’ ve never wanted to do an imaginary realistic head before. ’ He moved the lamp slowly and the oblique light made dark lines between the strips of clay.
‘ Why don ’ t modern sculptors do them? ” I asked.
‘ I don ’ t know, ’ said Alexander. ‘ We don ’ t believe in human nature in the old Greek way any more. There is nothing between schematized symbols and caricature. What I want here is some sort of impossible liberation. Never mind. I shall go on playing with it and interrogating it and perhaps it will tell me something. ’
‘ I envy you, ’ I said. ‘ You have a technique for discovering more about what is real. ’
‘ So have you, ’ said Alexander. ‘ It is called morality. ’
I laughed. ‘ Rusted through lack of practice, brother. Show me something else. ’
‘ Who is this? ’ said Alexander. He turned the anglepoise directly upward and revealed a bronze head which was mounted on a bracket above the work table.
I felt a shock of surprise even before I recognized it. ‘ I haven ’ t seen that in years. ’ It was Antonia.
Alexander had done the head in the early days of our marriage and then professed dissatisfaction with it and refused to part with it. It was in a light golden bronze and showed a youthful forward-darting Antonia that was not quite familiar to me: a champagne-toasted dancing-on-the-table Antonia that seemed to belong to another age. The shape of the head was excellent, however, and the great flowing pile of hair at the back, wildly tressed and somewhat Grecian: and the big rapacious slightly parted lips, these I knew. But it was a younger, gayer, more keenly directed Antonia than my own. Perhaps she had existed and I had forgotten. There was nothing there of the warm muddle of my wife. I shivered.
‘ It can ’ t be her without the body, ’ I said. Antonia ’ s swaying body was an essential part of her presence.
‘ Yes, some people are more their body than others, ’ said Alexander, as he played the beam over his head, unshadowing a cheek. ‘ All the same, heads are us most of all, the apex of our incarnation. The best thing about being God would be making the heads. ’
‘ I don ’ t think I like a sculpted head alone, ’ I said. ‘ It seems to represent an unfair advantage, an illicit and incomplete relationship. ’
‘ An illicit and incomplete relationship, ’ said Alexander. ‘ Yes. Perhaps an obsession. Freud on Medusa. The head can represent the female genitals, feared not desired. ’
‘ I didn ’ t mean anything so fancy, ’ I said. ‘ Any savage likes to collect heads. ’
‘ You wouldn ’ t let me collect yours! ’ said Alexander. I had never let Alexander sculpt me, though he had often begged.
‘ To carry on your pike? No! ’ As we laughed he drew his hand over the back of my head, feeling the shape under the hair. A sculptor thinks from the skull outwards.
We stood for a little longer looking up at the head of Antonia until I felt the misery rising in my heart. I said, ‘ I could face a stiff drink soon. By the way, I sent off a case of Vierge de Cléry and some brandy. ’
‘ They came this morning, ’ said Alexander. ‘ But no port! All claret would be port if it could. ’
‘ Not if I could catch it in time! ’ I said. We had this argument every Christmas.
‘ I ’ m afraid we ’ ve got the usual mob coming tomorrow, ’ said Alexander. ‘ I wasn ’ t able to put them off. Rosemary says they look forward to it! But with luck we may be snowed up. ’
We wandered across to the door and opened it, pausing on the threshold to look at the scene outside. The cold air touched us sharply. It was darker now, but the last light of day lingered with a living glow which seemed to emerge from the snow itself. The white untrodden sheet stretched away to where the two great acacia trees, loaded now and half sketched in in black, marked the end of the lawn and framed the now hidden vista of hills
‘ Yes, then. But I ’ ve never wanted to do an imaginary realistic head before. ’ He moved the lamp slowly and the oblique light made dark lines between the strips of clay.
‘ Why don ’ t modern sculptors do them? ” I asked.
‘ I don ’ t know, ’ said Alexander. ‘ We don ’ t believe in human nature in the old Greek way any more. There is nothing between schematized symbols and caricature. What I want here is some sort of impossible liberation. Never mind. I shall go on playing with it and interrogating it and perhaps it will tell me something. ’
‘ I envy you, ’ I said. ‘ You have a technique for discovering more about what is real. ’
‘ So have you, ’ said Alexander. ‘ It is called morality. ’
I laughed. ‘ Rusted through lack of practice, brother. Show me something else. ’
‘ Who is this? ’ said Alexander. He turned the anglepoise directly upward and revealed a bronze head which was mounted on a bracket above the work table.
I felt a shock of surprise even before I recognized it. ‘ I haven ’ t seen that in years. ’ It was Antonia.
Alexander had done the head in the early days of our marriage and then professed dissatisfaction with it and refused to part with it. It was in a light golden bronze and showed a youthful forward-darting Antonia that was not quite familiar to me: a champagne-toasted dancing-on-the-table Antonia that seemed to belong to another age. The shape of the head was excellent, however, and the great flowing pile of hair at the back, wildly tressed and somewhat Grecian: and the big rapacious slightly parted lips, these I knew. But it was a younger, gayer, more keenly directed Antonia than my own. Perhaps she had existed and I had forgotten. There was nothing there of the warm muddle of my wife. I shivered.
‘ It can ’ t be her without the body, ’ I said. Antonia ’ s swaying body was an essential part of her presence.
‘ Yes, some people are more their body than others, ’ said Alexander, as he played the beam over his head, unshadowing a cheek. ‘ All the same, heads are us most of all, the apex of our incarnation. The best thing about being God would be making the heads. ’
‘ I don ’ t think I like a sculpted head alone, ’ I said. ‘ It seems to represent an unfair advantage, an illicit and incomplete relationship. ’
‘ An illicit and incomplete relationship, ’ said Alexander. ‘ Yes. Perhaps an obsession. Freud on Medusa. The head can represent the female genitals, feared not desired. ’
‘ I didn ’ t mean anything so fancy, ’ I said. ‘ Any savage likes to collect heads. ’
‘ You wouldn ’ t let me collect yours! ’ said Alexander. I had never let Alexander sculpt me, though he had often begged.
‘ To carry on your pike? No! ’ As we laughed he drew his hand over the back of my head, feeling the shape under the hair. A sculptor thinks from the skull outwards.
We stood for a little longer looking up at the head of Antonia until I felt the misery rising in my heart. I said, ‘ I could face a stiff drink soon. By the way, I sent off a case of Vierge de Cléry and some brandy. ’
‘ They came this morning, ’ said Alexander. ‘ But no port! All claret would be port if it could. ’
‘ Not if I could catch it in time! ’ I said. We had this argument every Christmas.
‘ I ’ m afraid we ’ ve got the usual mob coming tomorrow, ’ said Alexander. ‘ I wasn ’ t able to put them off. Rosemary says they look forward to it! But with luck we may be snowed up. ’
We wandered across to the door and opened it, pausing on the threshold to look at the scene outside. The cold air touched us sharply. It was darker now, but the last light of day lingered with a living glow which seemed to emerge from the snow itself. The white untrodden sheet stretched away to where the two great acacia trees, loaded now and half sketched in in black, marked the end of the lawn and framed the now hidden vista of hills
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