You are probably more familiar with this piece cast in bronze, if not, you'd probably be familiar with one of his many, by now generic, commercially successful pieces, unless you live under a rock, or are a philistine, in which case you probably wouldn't be reading an art blog, or if you are, deserve the description. Bad mood, moi, ya think? The so called love of my life, monumental idiot that he is, and that I am for persisting to like him despite his many, many flaws, has a complicated and turbulent relationship with his mother.
In Robus's vision, maternal love would be as easy and blissful as this, two heads, one tiny, one not so tiny, embracing, the mother completely absorbed in the child, attuned to his needs. But some of us are
In Robus's vision, maternal love would be as easy and blissful as this, two heads, one tiny, one not so tiny, embracing, the mother completely absorbed in the child, attuned to his needs. But some of us are
resistant to growing up and accepting our adult roles (not so subtle hint as to which almost middle aged eeedjit I'm referring to here) and the responsibilities that come with them, so what is a mother to do?
Apparently in this case, bring about a near lemming like state of self destructive behavior. It would be so boring if I could resist it, resist being dragged into this oedipal story gone so wrong, resist being recast as mommy and wanting to save him, wanting to fix him, wanting to mend the flaw in the golden bowl (literary reference philistine, sheesh).
Then again, that's probably a reflection on my own mommy issues, maybe I didn't get enough attention as a child, maybe I have a hero complex, maybe I am attracted to the weak and the broken so I can escape my own unfathomable needs, help myself through the other. The Robus piece I most like though is one where he discards all unnecessary complications and goes minimalist on the female form, he casts three vases as a women's torso; headless, it still encompasses all that is female.
The moral of this story is, without all the drama, or the head if you like, you can still feel the utter femininity, much like the Venus de Milo, and its the same with motherhood, even with all the projected baggage, the unmet needs, the burden of expectation and obligation that seems to dictate the first intense emotional relationship we have, that with our parents, the base, the pared down result, is an all encompassing love, a forgiving tenderness, yes, even with the eeedjit and his mom, who come to think
Then again, that's probably a reflection on my own mommy issues, maybe I didn't get enough attention as a child, maybe I have a hero complex, maybe I am attracted to the weak and the broken so I can escape my own unfathomable needs, help myself through the other. The Robus piece I most like though is one where he discards all unnecessary complications and goes minimalist on the female form, he casts three vases as a women's torso; headless, it still encompasses all that is female.
The moral of this story is, without all the drama, or the head if you like, you can still feel the utter femininity, much like the Venus de Milo, and its the same with motherhood, even with all the projected baggage, the unmet needs, the burden of expectation and obligation that seems to dictate the first intense emotional relationship we have, that with our parents, the base, the pared down result, is an all encompassing love, a forgiving tenderness, yes, even with the eeedjit and his mom, who come to think
of it, I like better anyway, and rightly so.
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