The lazy amateur will instinctively attribute bituminous undergrowth to it, just as one gives to Vauban any bastioned fortification or to Le Nôtre the slightest walk-through parterre.
Come on !
a little effort, and he will identify it with Barbizon and this colony of landscapers whose pants are wet from planting plants in the forest of Fontainebleau, their buttocks in the moss and ferns.
Well done.
We could stick to watercress soup, but as soon as we stop there, it is no longer enough.
Because the painting of Théodore Rousseau (1812-1867) is in itself a place of memory, in the sense that Pierre Nora conceived of it: however clearly it shines among our memories, it unconsciously sends us back to the forest of the fable , the king's oak, the druidic clearings... Rousseau deserves even better.
This man led a revolution.
And as that was not enough, he anticipated our remorse of asphyxiated animals by almost two centuries.
First of all, Rousseau never decided to do…
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