Théodore Rousseau and “Unruly Nature”

Alight in the Forest

“Unruly Nature: The Landscapes of Théodore Rousseau” at the Getty

We know him as one of the key figures of the Barbizon School, and as an artist who was pushing up at the floorboards of Impressionism, but how does Théodore Rousseau (1812-1867) fare in his own right?

Of mid-century French painters, in an era dominated by Eugène Delacroix, Rousseau’s critical popularity seems to lag behind Corot and Millet while maybe edging out Daubigny and Diaz de la Peña. A rather generous showing of his paintings and drawings at the Getty is fairly impressive, but I don’t think it will keep Rousseau in the spotlight for very long.

Let’s examine why.

First of all, although he’s a superb draftsman, Rousseau’s subject matter just isn’t as diverse and as compelling as that of his predecessors Delacroix and Géricault, nor is he as bold or as impactful as Gustave Courbet, his junior by about seven years. Although the title of the show, “Unruly Nature,” gives one to imagine tempestuous storms and impossible terrain, in general Rousseau’s work embodies the spirit of Naturalism more than Romanticism. That is, one can frequently label it bucolic or pastoral. “Unruly” is a word better assigned to J.M.W. Turner.

It may be more accurate to say that Rousseau is heir to, or follows in the tradition of, the Dutch realist painters (Jan van Goyen and Meindert Hobbema are two examples) and John Constable. I see more workmanship than imagination, more of a devotion to craft than to courage, despite his use of so many material resources. In the catalogue that accompanies the show, Rousseau is quoted as saying that “A method matters little… one tries everything even diabolical conjuring.”

Well, the result of employing so many mediums, alone or in combination, is that several works do jump out at the viewer, either for their subtlety, as with Brook in the Forest of Fontainebleau (1849) or Landscape with Group of Trees (1853); their grandeur, as with Glade of the Reine Blanche in the Forest of Fontainebleau (c.1860) or View of Mont Blanc, Seen from La Faucille (c.1863-67); or their coloration, as with Evening (The Parish Priest) (1842-43).

However, when I say “color,” one should think of George Inness rather than of Monet or Renoir.

As the above picture titles indicate, Rousseau was a landscape artist and devoted to depictions of nature as opposed to architecture or mythology or cabaret dancers. In fact, his heroes were trees, God’s stately sentinels, which he often singled out and silhouetted against the sky the way Turner silhouetted his ships at sea. This love comes out strongly in his picture Felling Trees on the Isle de Croissy (1847), which is tellingly subtitled The Massacre of the Innocents.

Not surprisingly, then, Rousseau had “pantheistic beliefs,” as Édouard Kopp writes in the catalogue, but how these beliefs underlines Rousseau’s life and work is never explained. A pantheist sees God in nature, in trees, mountains, waterfalls, and so on. This is fine, as it gets us away from some bearded patriarch on a throne wielding a sword and a sceptre, but the downside here is that Rousseau seems a little too reverential towards his subject. As an artist, maybe that’s not so good; nature can stand being spanked a little so that the excitement level goes up, without our losing our respect for her, of course.

I do want to point out that there are many beautiful works in “Unruly Nature,” even with my reservations about the show as a whole (as compared with, for example, the Getty’s 2006 Courbet show, which had many exceptional canvases). And it’s not just the large oils that jump out, but smaller, intimate works like Climbing Path, Forest of Fontainebleau (1848-50) or Landscape with Group of Trees (1853), the former composes with graphite, watercolor, and gouache on paper, the latter with black and colored chalks on paper.

Although the work should always speak for itself, sometimes it needs a helping hand, and I regret to say that our co-curators let us down where the entries in the entries in the catalogue are concerned. It’s not that they don’t write knowledgeably and in great detail, it’s that they fail to bring the artist to life. “Despite fluctuations in his reputation and patronage,” Scott Allan writes at one point, “the last two decades of Rousseau’s life were overarchingly a period of official, critical, and market success.” Yes, but what was the man himself grappling with? What were his loves, his passions, his regrets? Instead, we get a long and heavily footnoted essay entitled “Rousseau’s Market, 1830-1914,” which will, at best, be of slim interest to most readers.

The larger story needs to be pursued elsewhere, but in the context of this exhibition it would have been helpful to have learned more about what initially drew Rousseau to the forest of Fontainebleau and why he kept returning there from Paris until finally settling in at the nearby village of Barbizon. The editorial content of the show puts a price tag on the works of art as they sold and changed hands over the years, but there’s another kind of price tag, that of the desire and inspiration, that isn’t given its due. Who was this man? Money matters, but it has nothing to do with the painter at his easel, nor does it matter when we’re standing before a work of art.

Unruly Nature: The Landscapes of Théodore Rousseau, was co-organized with the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen, where it will be seen this fall. Meanwhile, it is on view through Sept. 11 at the J. Paul Getty Museum, in the Getty Center at 1200 Getty Center Drive, Los Angeles. Hours, Tuesday through Friday and Sunday from 10 a.m. to 5:30 p.m., and Saturday from 10 a.m. to 9 p.m. Note: Summer hours (through Sept. 4) mean that the museum is open until 9 p.m. on Friday and 7 p.m. on Sunday. Free; parking $15 per car; $10 after 3 p.m. For related events, including a talk by St. Louis Art Museum curator Simon Kelly on August 21, call (310) 440-7300 or go to getty.edu. ER

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