I am a 59 year old mother of 3 daughters and grandmother to 4 gorgeous grandchildren. I am a Psychodramatist, Teacher with the School of Shamanic Womancraft and long time Occupational Therapist. The Blue Mountains west of Sydney Australia is my home, which I share with my beloved partner, assorted wildlife and many sacred trees.
How are you? I’ve been working on organising and streamlining my business recently to bring further order and balance to my life-including a commitment to a regular newsletter, I’m thinking about once a month, so do look out for them.
You might have noticed the picture of the sculpture (The Age of Maturity) at the top of my Psychodrama webpage (and above, here). Quintessential Longing. It was quite difficult to find a picture, but I love the yearning in Camille Claudel’s (1864-1943) work. The soul-full faces and bodies. The movement. My favourite is La Valse (below).
Have you heard of Camille Claudel? She was a lover of Auguste Rodin (he of “The Kiss’ (below) and “The Thinker”)- She was his Muse
I have read a lot (not recently though, so be warned that what I write is shaped by the peculiar prisms of my memory) about both Rodin and Claudel. I have been to Paris many times now and my favourite museum has always been the Musee Rodin. I know that Claudel had deep longings and passions. I know that they said she was mad and imprisoned her in an insane asylum (apparently an all to frequent residence for passionate women back then). She loved Rodin and she learnt from him (and he from her). She was his Muse (perhaps he was hers) and he rejected her. She longed for him. By all accounts he was cruel to her. Undoubtedly she suffered.
So then I wondered……. what is a Muse… and who or what is mine? Am I rejecting of her, cruel in my not listening to her? Having recently been encouraged by the wonderful writer Geneen Marie Haugen (more on Geneen in another post) to apprentice to my Muse, I have begun this exploration.
I glanced at her and took my glasses off- they were still singing. They buzzed like a locust on the coffee table and then ceased. Her voice belled forth, and the sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and knew that nails up there took a new grip on whatever they touched. “I am your own way of looking at things,” she said. “When you allow me to live with you, every glance at the world around you will be a sort of salvation.” And I took her hand. (When I met My Muse by William Stafford)
“I am your own way of looking at things”…. WILL you allow me to live with you? This is my Longing and my Question. I know the answer to be YES.
This is where Psychodrama takes me as I follow my Longing.