She anxiously applied to be his student and sent him her first marble work, and he hurried past without even looking at her. In the beginning it was her wholehearted game of his absent-mindedness. In the beginning, they were unequal.
The only equivalent is their talent. When he held her first marble work in his hands, he could already feel her enthusiasm and talent from the veins and texture of that "foot". In his brain-drained studio, she lay half-naked on the model's turntable, posing astonishingly, and he shivered as he kissed her skin, every inch of which could fill his heart.
That's what surprised him because he didn't.
"At least you know what moves you, but I don't." Rodin knew that was the source of the art of sculpture. It is the inspiration, the abundant life, the flowing blood and passion. Camille belongs to these. She met him with her talent in every cell and a pair of clear blue eyes. in the best years.
He ran to pursue her at her holiday home in the countryside, picked lettuce in the vegetable garden, and sighed at the plant, every leaf was green and clear. How beautiful it was when we first met each other. She pulled him into the corner of the room and kissed wildly, her small, thin frame was as strong as she was when she was kissing him, and she did her best in both of these things.
...
of course the sweetness is endless, and together they produced some of the greatest works, including Rodin's most famous "The Thinker," and "The Twelve Apostles."
When she was a creator, he was with her, and when she was a woman, he was leaving.
She was pregnant with his child, and desperately said "marry me" to him, he firmly said no, and explained vaguely "she can't live without me, I am her only support". Men can always distinguish between love and life, but women cannot.
Camille, loved him, hated him, moved out of his sight, but couldn't escape his shadow. When the forbearance had become a deeper and deeper sadness, she finally flew to him, in his arms, the joy of rebirth. She just hates him, but she still has the fantasy of love. She couldn't wait, she was going to have sex with him. However, he was vitriolic for ruining his reputation with a work she was working on, and they yelled at them like shrews. He finally left, leaving behind a sentence "I don't want love anymore, I don't want love to hurt me again." In the
terrifying desert, the days without water still make you gasp, Camille, you use your pain Create pain, "sorrowful old woman, pure little girl", when did pain creep into your life.
I saw you hysterical in front of his apartment, shouting his name like a mad woman; I saw you sneer at the reporter who mentioned his name; Seeing you drunk and unconscious in a filthy apartment; seeing you lurking on his way home in black just to catch a glimpse of him; seeing you resentful and vigilant before dying All his news...
That beautiful girl with clear eyes like lake water, she is missing in love.
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