Rembrandt Bugatti "Panthère au repos" Bronze Sculpture
In the "Panthère au repos" also known as "Panther in Repose", Bugatti seems to have been concerned primarily with musculature. The uneven surface exaggerates the contours of muscles which in turn causes a curious effect: weightiness from the amplified muscles and lightness created by the myriad reflecting planes. And while this cat is sculpted in movement, it has a posed appearance.
Item #: YB-21615
Artist: Rembrandt Bugatti
Country: France
Circa: 1904
Dimensions: 7" height, 14.75" width, 5" depth.
Materials: Patinated Bronze
Signed: R. Bugatti and incised 10 with foundry mark Cire Perdue AA Hébrard
Literature: V. Fromanger, "Rembrandt Bugatti, sculpteur, une trajectoire foudroyante, répertoire monographique, les éditions de l'amateur", Paris, 2016, p. 179 pour le plâtre, p. 356, no. 214.
Item #: YB-21615
Artist: Rembrandt Bugatti
Country: France
Circa: 1904
Dimensions: 7" height, 14.75" width, 5" depth.
Materials: Patinated Bronze
Signed: R. Bugatti and incised 10 with foundry mark Cire Perdue AA Hébrard
Literature: V. Fromanger, "Rembrandt Bugatti, sculpteur, une trajectoire foudroyante, répertoire monographique, les éditions de l'amateur", Paris, 2016, p. 179 pour le plâtre, p. 356, no. 214.
Bugatti’s panther was based on a poem Rainier Maria Rilke composed for Auguste Rodin. The poem goes as follows “Her vision from the constantly passing bars has grown so weary that it cannot hold anything else. It seems to her there are a thousand bars; behind the bars, no world. As she paces in cramped circles, over and over. the movement of her powerful soft strides
is like a ritual dance around a centre in which a mighty will stands paralysed. Only at times, the curtain of the pupils lifts, quietly. An image enters in, rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,
plunges into the heart and is gone.
Bugatti’s panther was based on a poem Rainier Maria Rilke composed for Auguste Rodin. The poem goes as follows “Her vision from the constantly passing bars has grown so weary that it cannot hold anything else. It seems to her there are a thousand bars; behind the bars, no world. As she paces in cramped circles, over and over. the movement of her powerful soft strides
is like a ritual dance around a centre in which a mighty will stands paralysed. Only at times, the curtain of the pupils lifts, quietly. An image enters in, rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,
plunges into the heart and is gone.
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