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" "If my painting depicts faithfully and without over-refinement the simple and true character of the place you have frequented, if I succeed.. ..in giving its own life to that world of vegetation, then you will hear the trees moaning under the winter wind, the birds that call their young and cry after their dispersion ; you will feel the old chateau tremble; it will tell you that, as the wife you loved, it too will.. ..disappear and be reborn in multiple forms.. One does not copy with mathematical precision what one sees, but one feels and interprets a real world, all of whose fatalities hold you fast bound.
Pierre Théodore Rousseau (April 15, 1812 – December 22, 1867) was an important French painter of the Barbizon school. His landscape paintings are mainly grave in character, with an air of melancholy.
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Ah! Silence is golden. When I was in my observatory at Belle-croix, I dared not move as the silence opened to me a course of discoveries. The families of the wood were then in action. It was the silence that permitted me, immovable as a tree trunk, to see the deer in their hiding-place and at their toilet, to observe the habits of the field rat, of the otter, of the salamander, those fantastic amphibious animals. He who lives in the silence becomes the center of a world; a little more and I could imagine myself the sun of a small creation, if my studies had not recalled to me that I had so much trouble to reproduce a poor tree or a cluster of rushes.
* Charles Jacque to Th. Rousseau: 'I should think you got weary here'.
* Rousseau: 'That depends; when you wish to do so, one can always find beautiful things to study and understand. Look here at this charcoal-burner [in the field] before us, with his big felt hat - who is thinking of his sacks and of his faggots sees how the shadow of those large brims gives a clear yet grave tint to his face'.
* Charles Jacque: 'Draw him, Rousseau, in this pensive attitude, he does not doubt that he is handsome, and if he posed himself he would become repellent. See, here is a sketch-book, go on!'
What has art to do with those things [Revolution, socialism]? Art will never come except from some little disregarded corner where some isolated man is studying the mysteries of nature, fully assured that the answer which he finds and which is good for him is good also for humanity, whatever may be the number of succeeding generations.