When viewing this set, some people may admire or romanticize the sculptor's dedication to the point of ignoring his surroundings.
But perhaps because of my own experiences last year, I sympathized with the model, who in some scenes also seemed to be the sculptor's lover.* I kept looking at her face and her place in the pictures, remembering how earnest and maybe even self-centered I could be, and imagining what was going through this girl's head:
"Is this how he sees me, then? Or was my body just a jumping-off point to some other vision? I don't know if I should be flattered."
"Should I be proud to be a part of the work, at least? I'm part of the work. Aren't I? You can't even see the face."
"I don't know a lot about art, but I think this good work, at any rate. I should be happy to have witnessed it, been part of it. I mean, they all say he's important. I should be happy."
"He's not listening; he's not even looking at me. I mean, he's not even here."
"Um. Can we talk about something else? Hey. Hello?"
And because of these thoughts, the whole "Suite Vollard" experience was cathartic for me. I stopped feeling sad a long time ago, but it was still nice to remember things without feeling hurt anymore.
After seeing the museum***, my brother and I had delicious beef brisket noodles and dimsum at David's Tea House near the Malate Church. Then we walked all the way to Luneta and took pictures of interesting things on the way.
* In real life, the model was Marie-Thérèse Walter, one of Picasso's many lovers and muses but perhaps the most famous. I will have to learn more about her sometime, but here's one blogger's take on her life.
** Images by Pablo Picasso, of course. Other disclaimer-y stuff: I don't earn monetary profit from this blog or from the use of these images.
*** There were other exhibits; I liked "Foto a Foto" and the blueprints of the Spanish Ilocano buildings.