SOMETIME AROUND 1909, THE Romanian sculptor Constantin Brâncuși was approached by “a lady from Paris, a princess” with a commission to carve her portrait. Brâncuși, a leading Modernist, had a “miserably low opinion” of traditional sculpture, even describing Michelangelo’s work as “nothing but muscle, beefsteak … beefsteak run amok” — “bifteck” with its similarity to a slab of clay being a favoured term of abuse.
The lady, however, was persistent. During a meal together he noted that while “She had a beautiful bust” she also had “ugly legs and was terribly vain … She was
