I just encountered the story of Camille Claudel, an artist from a century prior who worked side by side with sculptor Rodin and eventually was snubbed, institutionalized and crushed.
Is just some other random DEI history tidbit to sweep aside?
Or not? How much is-ness isn’t there when individuals aren’t allowed the freedom to follow their paths? How much faster — or better, or different — would be our society and the Realm of the People were each person acknowledged as the individual they are?
I used to think this type of thought often in my 1970’s child’s-mind: “What if there is an Einstein in a remote village in Uganda? Will he, or she, ever know themselves to be such a person of great intellect? What if the next Beethoven is in the “untouchables” class in India? Will the world ever know his music? What does someone with such greatness in them do when the world doesn’t see them? When their life and circumstances suppress them so?”
Camille Claudel, a Rodin of her own, was institutionalized for 30 years and pushed aside for going beyond the social norms her family sought to contain her within.
And, yet, she did create. She did find her way. She did express. She made her art.
What a price to pay in the punishment received. Yet what would have been worse? To not have created such art, side by side with Rodin?
Not for me to answer.
Her story is below.
Born in 1864, died in 1943—forgotten by the world, left to languish in a mental hospital.
What was her story?
She came to Paris to study art at a time when the prestigious École des Beaux-Arts was open only to men. Undeterred, she joined studios that welcomed women. There, she met and became the lover of the celebrated sculptor Auguste Rodin. Their relationship was one of fiery passion and shared artistry—they created side by side, their collaborative genius preserved in works housed today in the Rodin Museum and Musée d’Orsay.
But Rodin, already entangled in a long-standing relationship with another woman, eventually left Camille. As his reputation soared, hers plummeted. She was scorned, shunned, and dismissed—not just as a lover but as an artist. Alone, distrusting, and out of favor, she struggled to sell her works.
Adding to her isolation, her brother, the renowned poet and diplomat Paul Claudel, played a pivotal role in her downfall. Camille, seen as “too modern” and a source of familial shame, was forcibly institutionalized by her family. For 30 years, she fought to explain the injustice of her confinement, writing anguished letters to friends and family, pleading for release. Her clarity and heartbreak resonate in these preserved writings.
On October 19, 1943, Camille Claudel died of malnutrition in a French hospital. No family members attended her funeral, and her body was buried in a common grave.
Decades later, the world has finally recognized her brilliance. Her legacy has been restored: her sculptures now stand proudly beside Rodin’s, and a museum near Paris is dedicated entirely to her work.
Camille Claudel is no longer forgotten. She is honored as the visionary she always was.
